Beauty and Misery
by ak-stinger
Summary: AchillesParis SLASH. While visiting Troy, Achilles quickly falls in love with the doleful Prince Paris. But will he be able to save him from his lonely existence and horrifying future? Prequel to Family Secrets, though it could stand alone.
1. Disclaimer, warnings, etc

**Title:** _Beauty and Misery_

**Author: **ak-stinger

**Summary: **While a guest in Troy, famed Greek warrior Achilles is drawn to the city's doleful youngest prince, Paris. His feelings quickly turn into love, but can Paris feel the same way about him? Can Achilles save Paris from his miserable existence – and horrifying future?

**Rating: **R (see warnings)

**Pairing:** Achilles/Paris

**Warnings: **Contains **slash** of the M/M persuasion, including some sex scenes (later on in the story). There is also **child abuse**: physical, emotional, and sexual (molestation and the threat of rape). This story is **AU** (meaning I'll be changing many facts, including Paris' age, and he'll never meet Helen), as are many of the characters to some degree but most especially Priam and Paris. **If some or all of this sounds unappealing to you, please don't read it**.

**Disclaimer:** I own none of this. Homer told people about the characters and places while the people behind the movie Troy gave us the inspiring actors. The only somewhat prominent character that I can claim as my own is Lord Isidore. I'm not making any money off of this (in fact, with the number of pens I go through writing fan fiction, I'm _losing_ money). Suing won't do you much good since I'm a grad student and my major source of income right now is from student loans; all that's mine outright is every movie Orlando Bloom's made that I can get my hands on and you can't have those.

**Author's Note:** This is a prequel to my previous Troy story, _Family Secrets_. I don't think it'll be necessary for you to read that in order to understand this, but it probably wouldn't hurt and that story's relatively short. This story, long planned for and long overdue, is about the relationship between Achilles and Paris came to be. I've been having a pretty difficult time writing this because, though they weren't featured in it as prominently, in _Family Secrets_, their love and devotion is very strong; I wanted this fic to live up to that.

**Feedback:** I love reviews; they make me happy. However, I won't beg for them and I won't hold chapters hostage until I get a certain number of them, since I believe the want-to and quality of reviews counts more than the have-to and quantity of them. Praises make me feel special :) and I appreciate constructive criticism. Flames, as far as I'm concerned, are written by pathetic losers. Don't waste your time by reading something you don't like and then typing something rude or the three seconds of my time it takes to roll my eyes and delete.


	2. In his eyes

'_He must be one of the few people in the known world that's truly happy about the death of King Agamemnon,'_ decided Prince Paris of Troy as he watched his father, King Priam, preside over the feast. Not that Agamemnon was such a fantastic person and kind leader that everyone would be mourning him for years. In fact, Paris knew from nauseating personal experience during a visit three years prior that the dead king was obnoxious, vain, incapable of much subtly, and alarmingly unashamed of his wandering hands. Thankfully, the prince's older brother, Hector, had seen that the old man had cornered him (and was slobbering all over his neck) and intervened.

No, no one would be shedding any tears over Agamemnon the man. Agamemnon the king was another story. The thing that worried almost everyone was that, no matter how repulsive he had been, King Agamemnon was also the king of all the Greek kings and a very powerful man. Now that power would have to be claimed by either his weak younger brother, King Menelaus of Sparta, or by his infant son Orestes – and the boy's mother, who also happened to be Agamemnon's murderer. It would be better for Troy if Menelaus was the victor in the struggle, but Paris was secretly rooting for Clytemnestra. If he had to let the lecherous king paw at him all day and all night for years, he would've grabbed the nearest ax too.

Despite his disgust for the man, Paris certainly wasn't happy he was dead. Now political alliances would have to be redrawn and power structures rebuilt. That unfortunate fact had sent Hector abroad and had kept him away for quite a while. It was hard enough to see his brother when they were both in the palace, since Priam didn't seem to approve of them having any relationship whatsoever. The king claimed that they needed to concentrate on the different services they would perform for the city and not some childish bond. Privately, Paris suspected it was more because Priam was afraid of what Hector's reaction would be if he found out what _services_ Paris would be performing when he turned eighteen in less than two years. In any case, Hector secretly visited him whenever he could manage it, but now those precious brief visits were impossible.

On top of all that, now there were a lot of Greeks in Troy as guests of the king while new alliances were negotiated. This meant there were nightly banquets for King Odysseus of Ithaca, the Lord Achilles, and the men of their armies. The sixteen-year-old boy was decidedly uncomfortable, as his only experience with Greeks was with Agamemnon and his groping, and embarrassed about his own lack of fighting skills. Paris would also have to spend every evening at these banquets seated between Priam and Lord Isidore, the king's right-hand man. And, as always, Lord Isidore's withered, wrinkled hand was stroking the prince's bare thigh. Knowing it would be useless to complain to his father, Paris tried to ignore both the lord and his hand.

Lord Isidore, however, would not be ignored. He lifted his other hand and caressed the boy's cheek is a disturbingly intimate way. "You're not smiling," he purred in a voice that made Paris sick to his stomach. "You're so pretty when you smile."

The older man turned his gaze to King Priam. "My king," he said in a too smooth voice. "Doesn't the prince look most fetching when he smiles?"

"Yes, he certainly does," agreed the king proudly. "Paris, smile. Show our guests how lovely you are."

"Father, I really don't" –

"Show them." His father's voice was hard. "Let them see."

Willing the bile to stay down, Paris forced a smile on his face. Priam beamed with approval. "Honorable guests," he called out. "Most esteemed King Odysseus, brave Lord Achilles, noble warriors of Ithaca, mighty Myrmidons! Your presence not only honors me, but also delights the prince – and makes Troy an even more beautiful place in the process. Look at my youngest child; is he not even more beautiful when he smiles?"

Paris' cheeks burned with humiliation as every eye in the room turned to him. Did his father really have to show him off like he was a new statue or vase? He glanced at Priam, but the king didn't notice; he was too busy swelling with pride. All of the Greeks agreed that, yes, his son was extremely attractive, though Odysseus gave him a strange look when he gave the compliment.

Finally, finally, the people stopped staring at him. He dropped the phony smile off of his face in an instant and lowered his head. Oh, how he hated the beads he wore in his hair right now; if his hair was loose, he could use it to at least partially obstruct his face from view. The Greeks must be getting a good laugh, he decided miserably. Look at the little prince who could contribute nothing more to his kingdom than a pretty smile.

Then he felt eyes on him again. Paris his eyes to find that the Lord Achilles was staring at him. This had been happening ever since he'd arrived, with stares that were always persistent but never threatening. But tonight, tonight there was an intensity in the Greek's eyes, as if he were trying to peel away the skin and see straight into the prince's soul. Paris couldn't look away; those blue eyes hold his brown ones, determined to look inside and know all there was to know about him...

"It is time for the evening's festivities to begin!" a loud voice announced, startling Paris enough to break his eye contact with Achilles. The Trojan prince sucked in a deep breath to regain his composure as the court prostitutes filtered into the room.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles was never the type of person who had a weakness for the beauty of anyone else. He was, after all, the son of a sea goddess, Thetis – what kind of mortal beauty could hold a candle to that ideal? He was also accounted the most powerful warrior in the world and the leader of the skilled Myrmidons. War was ever on his mind and nothing was pretty in the context of war. He'd also seen too many intelligent men be turned into blubbering idiots at the first sight of anything even halfway enticing. All in all, Achilles was quite happy to remain immune to the temptation of anyone's beautiful features.

That was before he'd laid eyes on Prince Paris of Troy. On the journey across the sea to the city, Achilles had concentrated on the matters at hand and what had to be discussed, ignoring the eager murmurs about the boy's beauty that circulated among even his most battle-hardened men. So what if Troy had a prince whose beauty rivaled that of even Helen's? He'd met the queen of Sparta once and quickly concluded that it was a good thing she was pretty because she wasn't much else. He expected Prince Paris to be just as useless – why, he was sixteen-years-old and not even training with the Trojan army!

When they'd reached the shores outside the city, Paris was standing a little ways behind King Priam to greet them. Maybe it was annoyance at all the talk he'd endured; maybe it was simple curiosity about what everyone found so fascinating; whatever the reason, Achilles looked long and hard at the boy and was stunned at what he found there. Those incredibly deep brown eyes were the first things that ever took his breath away. The misery that shone through them didn't belong to a pampered prince but to an abused slave. They were supposed to be a part of the face of someone that's had the life suffocated out of him for years; leaving him with no hope left for escape, nor strength enough to cry.

Now tonight Achilles continued to stare as everyone else turned back to their meals. Paris had lost that horrible fake smile as soon as he could and tried in vain to hide his face behind his hair. He silently willed the boy to look at him, hoping that he could understand how he could possess seemingly unending sadness through diligent observation. Whey they'd finally locked eyes, the Grecian warrior was almost overwhelmed by the emotions that Paris held deep inside. Yes, he decided; the young prince was most intriguing, even if he was a reputed beauty.

When the banquet ended with the arrival of the prostitutes, Achilles didn't waste any time. He marched right up to Paris, who was still flanked on either side by King Priam and Lord Isidore. "Prince Paris," he greeted stately, nodding his head as a substitute for a bow since Achilles never bowed to anyone. Paris inclined his own head a little hesitantly in acknowledgment.

"I've heard rumors about the magnificence of Troy's gardens," he continued. "Would you care to show them to me?"

Priam bristled at the warrior's boldness. "You should have addressed that question to me and not my son!" he growled indignantly.

Achilles merely rolled his eyes. "King Priam, I don't want _you_ to show me the gardens," he said in a straightforward tone. "I'd prefer the prince's company."

"I'm sure you would," said Lord Isidore snidely, placing one of his hands on the juncture of Paris' neck and shoulder, rubbing the long neck with a finger. Achilles didn't miss how the prince went still at the touch. "However, Prince Paris cannot be good company for anything you have in mind. May I suggest one of our more _entertaining_ young men from the harem?"

"I wish to see the gardens with the prince, not bed a whore!" snapped Achilles, truly insulted.

Priam's expression twisted. "I don't see what you'd want from him besides a tight hole," he said nastily.

Achilles was too infuriated to consider that the insult wasn't just meant for him and to see the way Paris' eyes snapped shut as his faced paled. "Will I be allowed to see the gardens with the prince?" he said evenly, his voice low and dangerous. "Because if you dare insult my honor again tonight, I'll leave with my Myrmidons tomorrow at first light with no treaty, no alliance, and the memory of this outrage forever foremost on my mind."

He turned his head slowly towards Paris. "My prince," he said, trying to banish the threat from his voice. "Will you do me the honor of showing me the gardens of the city?"

"Fine!" Priam spat out. "Paris, show Lord Achilles the gardens but don't be too long about it."

"Yes Father," said Paris with weary obedience. "If you would please come with me, my lord, I will show you the way."

Achilles and Paris walked together in silence though the hallways of the palace until they reached the main garden. It was secluded and indeed very lovely – if Achilles cared at all about gardens, which he certainly did not. "It's nice," he observed, trying to feign enthusiasm and failing miserably. He just wasn't interested in saying things he didn't mean for the sake of politeness!

Paris sighed with exhaustion. "It's been a long day," he said candidly, staring out over the garden wall and refusing to look at the Greek. "I don't feel like playing any more games tonight. We both know that you have no interest in this or any other garden so, for the sake of time, why don't you just tell me what you want with me?"

To be continued...


	3. Bringing to the surface

"Very direct; I can respect that," chuckled Achilles. He wondered what would happen if he tried to provoke the prince; not attack, but annoy some response out of him. Well, there was only one way to find out. "Why do you assume I want anything other than the pleasure of your company?"

Paris was decidedly uncomfortable. "Let me assure you that my company will be anything but _pleasurable_," he replied stiffly, silently fearing that every Greek was as salacious as Agamemnon. "If that's what you desire then I'm sure Lord Isidore will be more than happy to arrange an, um, _encounter_ for you" –

"Don't compare me with that lusty old bastard," said Achilles darkly. "I'm nothing like him."

"I didn't say that!" cried Paris defensively, unconsciously backing away a bit. "I just thought..."

"That I didn't want go the evening without putting my hands all over an unwilling young man like he did, even if it's not in front of a room full of visiting warriors and dignitaries?" the Greek completed.

Paris' face flushed.

"Yes, I saw," Achilles told him. "I'm sure everyone saw. In fact, I was wondering why your father would tolerate one of his people treating his son like a whore; until he showed you off like a prized pleasure slave, that is."

"Are you done now?" Paris' voice was very small as he tried to swallow a lump in his throat. He'd been called things like that more often than he liked to admit, but it stung to hear that even a stranger thought that way about him.

Achilles cursed himself when he saw the broken look on the boy's face. "I didn't mean it as an insult to you," he explained, a little surprised about how much he wanted to comfort Paris. "I meant that the wizened old lord should be castrated for how he treats you. I could stomach witnessing that more than seeing more of his revolting behavior. By the gods, King Priam must be weak old fool for allowing him to get away with it!"

"You shouldn't say things like that," said Paris, shocked. _No one_ had ever spoken like that in front of him before. "My father is your host!"

"Your father is my baby-sitter," corrected Achilles, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "He insists that I stay in this stuffy palace when I'd rather sleep on the beach with my men; probably thinks I'd be up to no good without constant supervision. Although now I can see one advantage to being kept under lock and key here."

"Which is?"

"Because staying here means I get more opportunities to see and talk to you," he grinned, and was amused and pleased by Paris' reaction. "Are your cheeks permanently red? By the gods, anyone would think you're thinking naughty thoughts."

Paris ducked his head, desperate to hide his flaming cheeks. "That takes us back to my original question," he stated, embarrassment evident in his voice. "What do you want with me?"

"And so it does," agreed Achilles. He'd pushed the boy into showing surprise and embarrassment; what else had he buried down deep? "Shall we continue to talk ourselves in circle or can we finally have real conversation?"

"I can't imagine what you want to talk about," Paris responded with a self-deprecating laugh. "I don't really want to know anything about you and there's nothing about me that you'd find interesting."

"You're wrong," Achilles said simply, giving him another soul-penetrating stare.

"Please don't look at me like that," the boy requested meekly. "You won't find anything special."

"On the contrary," said Achilles evenly, studying his silhouette. "I find you absolutely fascinating. How can one so young, so beautiful, a prince of one of the wealthiest cities in the world be so miserable?"

"I'm not" –

"You are," insisted the Greek, not really caring which description Paris had been trying to dispute. "Gossip about how exquisite you are go far beyond Troy; actually, it's really boring to listen to after awhile. And yet, you act more like a beaten slave than a spoiled royal. You go through the motions and pretend to be the perfect younger prince. Every night you sit between those two old men and smile when they tell you to. You attend the banquets so your father can show off how pretty his youngest son is. I've spent the past week wondering what you were all about. Your father seems to think that you have no more use than that of a priceless vase.

"I'm not priceless," whispered Paris hoarsely as a couple of tears escaped from his eyes. _'You haven't cried in years, you worthless moron!'_ he silently chided himself. _'Don't start now, not in front of this Greek!'_

Achilles reached out and cupped his cheek, wiping away the tears and gently urging the prince to face him. "I don't think you've asked the right people."

Paris couldn't take it anymore. He could feel emotions that he spent most of his life burying bubbling to the surface. "Anything else," he begged in a shaking voice. "I will talk about anything else, but _please_ don't say these things to me and please don't ask me these questions."

"Very well," whispered Achilles. He let his hand slip form Paris' cheek. "I'll even let you choose the topic."

Groping his mind for something, _anything_, safe to say, Paris lamely asked, "What is your home like?"

Achilles flashed an impish smile. "I think you know," he said, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. "You must see it every day."

"I don't believe I do," the boy replied wearily. Why was this Greek incapable of giving a straight answer? "I've never left these shores."

"You don't need to leave these shores to see my home," Achilles informed him as he pulled him to his feet. He led the startled Paris to the side of the garden wall that faced out over the beach. "_That_ is my home. Any beach near any part of the sea is what I call home."

Paris stood rooted to the spot, utterly amazed. "You're a very hard man to understand, Lord Achilles," he finally said. "You're so plain-spoken and, um, honest one moment and speaking words that sound like poetry the next. I've never met anyone so, um, contradictory before."

"I might have too much of my mother in me," confessed Achilles.

"I've heard the rumors," replied Paris. He thought for a moment and decided not to hold back his curiosity. "Is she really a goddess?"

"She is Thetis the sea goddess to most people," answered Achilles, not taking his eyes off the sea. "To me, she's my mother, and always there when I needed her to be."

"I never met my mother," Paris blurted out. Achilles looked at him, surprised more at the outburst than at what he said. "She died when I was born."

"Do you know what she was like?" the Grecian warrior asked, kindness in his voice.

"No," answered Paris with a shake of his head. "I asked my father once; he told me not to worry about things that are dead and gone, and not to bring up the subject anymore. I asked Hector once, too," he added, his face clouding over at the memory.

"And what did he say?"

"He cried," whispered Paris with a faraway look in his eyes, as if he were watching the events of long ago. "I was young then, only five or six. One night when he sneaked in to visit me I started asking all these stupid questions. 'What was Mama like?'; and 'Was she happy I was coming? Did she love me?' and other things such things. He tried to - to tell me, but ended up breaking down in tears. It was so scary at the time; I'd never seen him cry before – or since – but that night the tears just flowed." He ducked his head again. "Maybe he just didn't know how to tell me that she never loved me."

"Only a twisted and corrupt person could never love you," Achilles murmured out loud but to himself.

Paris looked at him almost fearfully. "What did you say?" he asked.

"I was wondering about your brother sneaking in to visit you," lied Achilles, determined not to startle the skittish prince. "Why didn't he just see you out in the open?"

Paris drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "Father," he answered. "Father always said that we each have pressing – and quite opposite – duties to attend to or prepare for. He doesn't want us to, as he puts it, indulge in such a childish and weak thing."

"Then King Priam is not a weak old fool but a cruel idiot," declared Achilles, looking him straight in the eye. "You don't actually believe that nonsense, do you?"

"It doesn't matter," replied Paris, self-hatred lacing the edge of his voice. "I'm already weak. I might as well have a relationship with my brother."

Achilles let out a snort of disgust. "It seems to me that Hector loves you if he's in the habit of defying your father just to spend a few moments with you," he pointed out. "By your standards, I guess that makes him weak."

The change in the prince's face was amazing. All the misery, self-loathing, and fear dropped away, replaced by a furious energy. "Hector is anything but weak!" Paris yelled, forgetting himself and giving Achilles a hard shove. "He could sent you to Tartarus in an instant if he wanted to."

He moved to shove him again but Achilles caught his hands, not letting go. "You're beautiful when you're angry," he smiled. "I'm glad to see that not all of the life has been smothered out of you yet."

"Why am I even talking to you about this?" wondered Paris with exasperation, yanking himself out of Achilles' grasp and taking a few steps back. "About any of this, for that matter? Are we done yet?"

"Yes," nodded the Greek. "I think you've answered my question."

"Which one?"

"About why you're so miserable," responded Achilles. He started counting off the details on his fingers. "A dead mother no one talks about; a brother who loves you – and vice versa – but you're forbidden to see; a nobleman with disgusting traveling hands and lustful stares; and a father who sees you more as a part of his treasure than a son. And all of that together makes you hate yourself, even though there's no real reason why you should do so. That's what's destroying your spirit."

Paris rolled his eyes. "Since you've got me all figured out," he said as he started towards the door, "I'm going to bed. I trust you'll not want to speak to me again."

"On the contrary," corrected Paris cheerfully. "I only know part of your story. There's more to be played out, and I've decided that I'm going to be a big part in it. I'm going to be there when all that self-hatred recedes so I can see what your real smile looks like; and you're going to realize you're worth so much more than what King Priam and that lord's taught you. I'm actually quite looking forward to it."

Closing his eyes to keep those bothersome tears from spilling yet again, Paris paused just long enough to say, "Goodbye, Lord Achilles."

Achilles' answer was irritatingly merry. "Only for now."

To be continued...

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! _

_FYI, this was a difficult chapter for me (in fact, this is where I encountered the writer's block that delayed me for months), and I'm still not entirely satisfied with it. _


	4. The morning after, part 1

The next morning Paris berated himself with every step he took. He'd held all of those feelings in for so long; why had it all spilled out to a Greek and a reputed brute of all people? _'He says a few nice things to me and I'm practically crying on his shoulder!' _he thought, angry with Achilles for tricking him into opening up and angry with himself for doing so. _'He must have been thoroughly amused. Probably laughed about it all night with those other visiting Greeks.'_

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice that he was no longer alone in the hallway. "Good morning, Paris," greeted his sister-in-law, Hector's wife Andromache.

He looked up and was startled to see her, with baby Astyanax in her arms, alone in the company of King Odysseus of Ithaca. "Good morning, Andromache," he replied, letting his gaze drift to the Greek. "I trust all is well with you and my nephew this day."

"Very well, thank you," she smiled, trying, as she always on the rare occasions when they talked, to get him to drop his guarded façade. "We were just having a most pleasant conversation with King Odysseus here."

"Really?" Paris raised his eyebrows at the king. "Is it customary, then, for the men of your country to meet with a woman all alone like this?"

"No," answered Odysseus, looking abashed. "I just ran into Andromache and wanted to talk to her about the baby. My own son, Telemachus, is only a little bit older and I must confess I miss him terribly."

"I wouldn't say that too loudly if you want any kind of alliance with Troy," Paris told him in a wry tone. "My father –"

"- is a fool," interjected Andromache lightly, but with a hard edge in her voice. "Honestly, I think a statue is more capable of warmth and affection than that man!"

"Andromache!" cried a shocked Paris. "Perhaps you shouldn't say such _candid_ things, especially in front of one of Father's guests."

Odysseus, not wanting to scandalize the prince even more, tried vainly to suppress his chuckle. "I'm sure she didn't mean any disrespect," he assured jovially. "In fact, my wife calls her king a fool all the time."

He and Andromache laughed at the horrified expression on Paris' face. "Oh, relax brother," she scolded playfully, hefting Astyanax into his arms. "Here, hold your nephew."

Awkwardly cradling the baby in his arms, the prince bit his lower lip and debated with himself if he should ask the question foremost on his mind. "King Odysseus," he finally said. "Did you speak to the Lord Achilles last night?" _'Did you laugh until dawn about the blubbering Trojan prince?'_ he added silently, bitterly guessing the answer was yes.

"No, not since before the banquet last night," replied the Grecian king.

"Really?" Paris threw him a disbelieving look. "He didn't tell you about our conversation last night?"

Odysseus groaned inwardly. He wasn't a stupid man; he knew his impetuous friend was growing increasingly fascinated with the young prince. "Which conversation?" he asked as he tried to keep his voice even and calm, deciding that if Achilles had done anything improper and ruined any chance of peace he'd kill him.

"The one in which he insisted on having with my son alone," interrupted Priam, sounding properly indignant as he joined the group. "He even threatened to leave, lead his men back to Greece without so much as another word between us, if he wasn't allowed to speak with him unsupervised! It was most insulting."

Odysseus cringed, but tried his best to disguise it as an apologetic smile. "My deepest apologies to you both," he said profusely. "I know that Achilles can be, well, _intense_ at times, but he usually means no harm by it."

"It would be best if he weren't so _forward_ in the future," Priam stressed meaningfully, resting his hand on the back of Paris' neck.

"Of course," agreed Odysseus smoothly, desperately searching in his mind for another topic. _Any _other topic. His eyes fell on the baby in Paris' arms. "You really have a handsome son, my lady."

"Thank you," replied Andromache, playing along by smiling demurely.

"Lord Achilles didn't say anything to you about last night?" Paris persisted, noting the topic change but not caring that Odysseus didn't want to talk about it anymore.

The well-acted pleasant smile froze on the Grecian king's face. "I assure you that he didn't talk to me or anyone else about it," he said, the barest hint of desperation sneaking into his voice. "My prince, I didn't realize how much you and Astyanax resemble each other. Why, if I didn't know any better I'd swear you two were brothers."

Paris refused to drop the subject. "No mention at all?"

The hand on the back of the boy's neck tightened ever so slightly. "If you will excuse us," said Priam tensely. "I must speak with my son in private. I'm sure you need to return to you men, King Odysseus."

"Yes, my lord," nodded Odysseus, though he had no intention of going back to his troops. No, he was going to track down Achilles for a rather loud discussion about threatening the chances for alliances and peace. "Your highness, Prince Paris; it was a pleasure to meet you, my lady Andromache."

Paris didn't hear Andromache's response; he'd barely had time to give Astyanax back before he dragged away. With one hand on the back of his neck and the other on an arm, Priam was both pushing and pulling him through the hallways of the palace at a rather brisk pace. When they reached one of the back rooms, the king roughly thrust him through the doorway before entering himself and slamming the door behind them.

"What was that all about?" snarled Priam, grabbing Paris' arms so tightly that that prince was sure there would be bruises. He shook him violently. "Answer me!"

"Nothing, Father!" insisted Paris, absolutely frightened. "I just wanted to know if that brute was bragging about getting the opportunity to talk to me alone, that's all. I swear by Apollo, that's all!"

Priam let go of him suddenly and smacked him across the face. Paris lost his balance and fell back on the floor. "Do not speak the name of Apollo from that filthy mouth!" raged the king. "What would that Greek have to brag about, I wonder? Did you spread your legs for him?"

"No!" cried Paris, using all of his will to try to hold back the tears that were stinging his eyes. Curse Achilles! Had he permanently broken the dam that held back his emotions?

"You really are nothing but a little whore, aren't you?" sneered Priam. Paris' only response was a choked sob. "Probably were pulling of both of your clothes the moment you left the banquet hall, weren't you? I bet you can't wait until the day comes that you can take your proper place among the palace prostitutes."

"No!" screamed Paris, his body wracked with sobs as the tears fell freely. "That's not true. Please Father..."

"Oh, it's not true, is it?" mocked the king. "So, what then? Did he tell you he loves you? Is that how he got you to spread out under him? Poor, stupid Paris, actually believing someone could love a whore like you?"

"I – I didn't d,d,do any, anything," choked out the prince. "I'll do, do anything you w-want to p-p-prove it. Please, please..."

"My Paris," sighed Priam in a soft, gentle voice as the anger seemed to drain out of him. He reached out to lovingly stroke the boy's cheek; Paris knew better than to flinch or pull away. "I know it must be hard for you to be both a born strumpet and a prince of Troy. Do not worry, my son; you'll be providing the nobles and visiting allies with much pleasure soon enough. In the meantime, however, if you each like such an eager slut in front of Odysseus or anyone else, I'll toss you to the Greeks and tell them they can do whatever they want with you." He leaned in close to whisper in Paris' ear, "I'll give them gold for being especially rough. Am I making myself clear?"

A petrified Paris managed to choke out, "Yes Father."

"Good," smiled the king, planting a soft kiss on Paris' brow. "Less than two years, my son. In less than two years Lord Isidore will initiate you into the world of the palace prostitutes. And I'll be there to make sure he teaches you to like the pain. You may go now."

Paris tore out of the room as fast as he could, taking heed of no one that he passed. Priam followed after slowly, deep in thought.

"My king?" broke in a familiar voice, bringing him back from his musings.

"Lord Isidore," greeted Priam warmly. "May I have a moment of your time, my friend?"

"Of course," replied the lecherous lord. He nodded to the young prostitute at his side. "I was just going to give this one a little reminder about what he's been taught."

"This will only take a moment," promised the king. "When the Greeks leave, you have my permission – nay, my command – to _visit_ my Paris one night in his quarters."

"My king!" exclaimed the lord eagerly, licking his lips. "May I inquire as to why you're giving me this most pleasurable command?"

"Paris just needs a little reminder about who his father is," replied Priam blithely. "I just need to show him who's truly in control."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 

Paris ran out of the palace, out of the city, and all the way to the seashore before he stopped. Dropping to his knees in the wet sand, he let out an anguished, frustrated roar as hot tears continued to slide down his cheeks. "Please Zeus, strike me dead with a bolt of lightening!" he screamed. "I beg you, mighty Poseidon, to drown me in your waters! Somebody, anybody, put me out of my misery!" He couldn't breathe, nearly choking on his sobs. "Please, please, somebody help me," he half-whispered sorrowfully, toppling over and falling face-first to the ground.

Strong hands appeared on his shoulders, pulling him back into a kneeling position. "Oh, Paris," said Achilles as he gently supported him. "What have they done to you?"

"Lord Achilles," the boy murmured wretchedly. "Have you come to put me out of my misery?"

Achilles slid one hand under Paris' knees and scooped him up, cradling him to his chest. "I have," he vowed as he carried him down the beach. "I swear this will be the last time that you beg the gods or anyone else for death. Anyone who causes you pain will answer to me from this point on."

To be continued...

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed!_


	5. The morning after, part 2

_A/N: A little bit of deja vu here; this chapter deals with what Achilles was doing during part of chapter 3._

Achilles should have known that _something_ important was about to happen the second Odysseus came to see him. Usually the old fox joked with him, slyly suggesting the right things to do under the guise of pleasant conversation. Today, however, the kind of Ithaca was in no mood for diplomacy or friendship. "What did you do to Prince Paris?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" Achilles shot back, slightly taken aback by his friend's strange disposition. "We had a rather brief conversation. That's it."

Odysseus let out a disbelieving snort. "If that's so, then why did he just ask me if you told me anything about your little talk?" he persisted. "Not once, but several times! And in front of his father, too. Please, please tell me that you didn't try to bed him."

"I didn't," the warrior insisted fiercely. His tone softened. "I wouldn't just – do it like that..."

"What?" snapped Odysseus, getting more flabbergasted and infuriated by the second. "Why in Tartarus did your voice change like that?"

"I just find him intriguing, that all," admitted Achilles defensively.

"Well, don't." The Grecian king was clearly annoyed. "You're making the prince nervous and King Priam furious. Things would move along a lot more smoothly if you just leave the poor boy alone and find someone else to be _intrigued_ with."

It was only Achilles' admiration for Odysseus that stopped him from spilling his blood all over the floor. "Friend or not," he growled, "if you ever imply that all I want from Paris is sex again, I'll kill you. He's not some bed-warming diversion! He – he needs someone to take care of him."

"I've heard that's what father's are for," Odysseus told him flatly.

"I'm certainly not going to abandon him to his father's care," replied Achilles with a roll of his eyes. "He needs me."

Odysseus' expression changed from annoyed to alarmed in an instant. "No," he said. "No, you cannot be developing feeling for the youngest prince of Troy, of all people!"

"Since when do I need your permission or anyone else's to care about someone?"

"Do you honestly think that nothing of consequence will happen if you actually pursue this?" cried Odysseus. "Things have been unstable enough since Agamemnon died; this could very well push Troy into starting a war against the cities of Greece. You may not care about the destruction of our way of life, but some of us have families to think about. I beg you, if you have any compassion at all for your fellow warriors, stay away from Prince Paris."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Waves from the sea splashed up onto the shore and surrounded Achilles' feet, but he took no notice of them. Odysseus' order ran over and over again in his mind. He wasn't going to stay away from Paris, of course; after all, he was Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis and the greatest warrior in the world. It just wasn't in his nature to comply with commands, especially if it meant giving up someone when every part of him screamed that he shouldn't.

But why was he so attached to Paris? The Trojan prince was beautiful, to be sure, but Achilles would never let his emotions rule him like this just because someone was nice to look at. The only reason he'd even given Paris a second glance was because he was so damnably miserable all the time. Was that it? Was he attracted to the boy's unhappiness? No, that didn't seem right either. He wanted to _rid_ him of his sadness, to bring out that defiant spark hidden deep down and make him shine with strength and happiness. What would that be like, to see Paris' real smile...

Achilles sighed and turned his gaze down the beach. His eyes immediately fell on a familiar sight: his mother, the sea goddess Thetis, was strolling down the sand toward a secluded alcove. He wasn't terribly surprised, as she had a way of showing up whenever she felt that she was needed. Curious to see what brought her this time, he followed. "Hello Mother."

"My dear son," she responded, handing him a seashell necklace. He took it, smiled his thanks, and reflexively tied it around his throat. Thetis always made them for him as a child and now made a point of gifted one to him at their all-too-infrequent meetings.

"What brings you to Troy?" Achilles asked.

"You are always so direct," she scolded lightly, giving him a playful frown that turned into a smile almost immediately. "I came because you will realize that you are in love with young Paris before the day is over."

"Really now?" replied Achilles with mild surprise. "And how do you know that I don't just feel sorry for him? Or that I don't seek only to pleasure myself with his body?"

Thetis was nothing if unflappable. "Would you be spending your day imagining what he looks like when he smiles if you only pitied him?" She shook her head. "And a seducer cares nothing about the happiness of his prey. No, Achilles; the young prince of Troy has entered your heart and it will only be a matter of time before it is his entirely."

"Odysseus would have me stay away from him," the Greek sighed. "He seems to think that my feelings in this matter would start a war. Apparently, I'm not what his father would see as a suitable mate."

"Do not presume to know what his father wants for him," insisted Thetis sagely. "Priam is a brutal fool. This love will create the most powerful alliance that the world has ever seen."

"Does Paris love me, then?"

"He will if you let him," she said plainly. "He is but drawn to you right now. If you can cast aside your own walls and show him your soul, he will love you as much as you love him." She turned her eyes back to where Achilles had been standing before her arrival. "The time is now."

Following her gaze, Achilles caught sight of Paris collapsing onto his knees, begging the gods to end his existence. The warrior's feet seemed to move of their own volition back down the beach, toward him. Good thing; his mind was too full of emotion to think about such things as running. He was enraged at whoever caused Paris to despair, worried as he saw him fall on his face in the mud, and most of all seized with the aching need to hid the vulnerable boy away from the cruelties of the world. "Oh, Paris," he breathed, feeling his heart swell and break at the same time. "What have they done to you?"

"Lord Achilles," he uttered, putting all of his pain and self-loathing into those two words. "Have you come to put me out of my misery?"

For the first time in his adult life, Achilles kept his rage in check. Storming of to slaughter all those he believed responsible for Paris' state, he decide, would only serve to frighten him. Instead he scooped the boy up into his arms and carried him toward the cove. "I have," he declared, feeling the strength of his conviction grow with each word. "I promise this is the last time you beg the gods or anyone else for death. Whoever causes you pain will answer to me from this point on."

Paris' only response was to wrap his harms around the warrior and squeeze tightly, burying his face in Achilles' neck. Achilles clutched him closer, closing his eyes briefly at the feel of those hot tears on his skin. "It's going to be all right," he murmured as they came to the cove. "I'm going to make everything all right if it takes all my life and kills me in the end."

He gently placed the prince down on the beach. Paris made no attempt to stand, so Achilles kneeled in front of him, gently grasping his shoulders so he wouldn't collapse again. "Why?" Paris asked hoarsely. "Why are you making such promises? You can't keep them, and you don't care anyway."

"I do care," Achilles told him softly. "I told you last night that I wanted to see you happy."

"You were playing games with me!" shot back Paris. He bowed his head again as the anger dissipated and the sobs returned. "I can't take it anymore..."

Achilles reached out and touched Paris cheek, but he cried out in pain and jerked away. "What is it?" asked Achilles, concerned. He clasped the boy's chin and gently turned his head; Paris offered no resistance. Then he saw it; a red mark on his cheek that was becoming a bruise. "How did that happen? Did somebody strike you?"

"My father," admitted Paris, fresh tears springing to his eyes at the memory. "I ran into King Odysseus in the halls and asked him if you mentioned talking to me last night. I thought – I thought that you'd be up laughing all night about how I cried, so I didn't believe him when he said you didn't. I asked him several times. My – my father s-said I was acting like an –"he closed his eyes and lifted his faced to the sky, trying to force the emotions down –"eager slut. Accused me of spreading my legs f-f-for you and told me that if I act, acted like that again, he'd throw me to the Greek soldiers and tell them they could..."

With an angry flash in his eyes, Achilles pulled him into a crushing embrace. Paris stiffened momentarily, then melted into his arms. It had been so long since someone held him like that. He could almost believe that the Greek actually cared about him.

"Even if he did do that," Achilles vowed passionately, "no harm would come to you. I'll make it very clear to the men that I'll castrate and gouge the eyes out of any one of them who touches or even looks at you in a way you don't like."

"Do you mean that?" Paris moved out of those warm, comforting arms to look him in the eyes. Achilles nodded grimly. "You – you won't tell anyone that I cried either?"

"Not a soul," murmured the Greek, leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss on his bruised cheek. Paris shivered at the touch and their eyes locked. Their lips were only inches apart; it felt like they were being pulled together...

"I have to go back to the palace before anyone comes looking for me," whispered Paris. "If Father found out that I was out here with you, he would – would be very angry."

"You don't have to." Achilles was surprised by the pleading tone in his own voice. "I could take you away from all of this, right now."

Paris let out a humorless chuckle. "And go where?"

"Anywhere you want."

"There would be no time to round up your men. What do you think would happen to them if we just disappeared?" Paris questioned in a thick voice. He moved away from Achilles, shaking a little. Was he just trying to get him away from what little protection he had in the city so he could rape him at his leisure?

Achilles saw the boy's growing fears and forced himself to relent – for now. "You're right," he said. "But I don't you to leave here without me knowing when we can speak again. My I see you tonight? In the garden?"

"I can't ask Father," Paris told him, alarmed. He wavered at the disappointed look on the warrior's face. "But I'll try to slip away after the banquet, if it's just for a little while."

"Until tonight then," smiled Achilles, helping him to his feet. "And remember, anytime you want to leave Troy all you have to do is tell me."

Paris didn't answer; instead he walked slowly and silently back to the city. His thoughts remained on the Greek back at the cove; he could still feel his eyes watching him. Confusion, fear, and hope warred within him as he raised a shaking hand to his bruised – and kissed – cheek.

To be continued...

_A/N: In the "real world," I'm a grad student who's hoping to write a major paper on and the people who use it. Would anyone out there be interested in helping me out by taking a survey? I'll give more specifics to those who volunteer; just know that if you choose to do so, no personal information (such as name and e-mail address) will find its way into the paper or anyone else's hands. It's open to everyone who uses the website, not just people who review my stories (if you don't feel like reviewing but are interested in taking the survey, my e-mail address in on my author's page.) Be sure to let me know your e-mail address if you volunteer; mention your e-mail server a couple of times since that part's been cut off more often than not in some of the responses I've already received. Thanks for your time!_


	6. Opening up

Lord Isidore had his hand on the boy's thigh yet again, but that night Paris didn't need to concentrate too much on ignoring it. He was too busy trying to wrap his mind around what had taken place earlier. He had opened up to Achilles, cried in front of him, even leaned on him for support, and he didn't feel ashamed. Quite the opposite, in fact; releasing so much emotion after holding it in for almost half of his life made him feel..._free_. It should've felt ridiculous; Achilles was supposed to be a brutish barbarian. But he made Paris feel safe and even empowered. The thought that Achilles would gladly break the lord's hand for touching him in such a way flitted into the prince's mind and the beginnings of a smirk twitched onto his lips.

He sneaked a glance in Achilles direction and risked shooting him a small, shy smile. The corners of Achilles mouth curved in response. The warrior knew that he should feel too old to be acting like a lovesick puppy but steadfastly fought that instinct. He was too happy to tolerate any other emotion interfering with that. For the first time since he was a child, he was able to push aside all thoughts of war and carnage and just focus on being happy. Why, he could even imagine himself being content not to fight in another battle just as long as Paris was by his side and they could live in peace together.

"The prince won't vanish if you look away for one second," whispered Odysseus nervously, thoroughly annoyed that his friend seemed to refuse to consider the safety of their peoples and homes. "I suggest you stop staring before anyone else notices."

Achilles did glance away for a second, but only to scowl at Ithaca's king. "Worse things than vanishing could happen to him," he shot back. "I just wish I could take him in my arms and help him leave all of this behind."

"Don't say that out loud!" Odysseus hissed frantically. "By the gods, you'd be executed if a Trojan overheard that! Stop acting like a fierce lion in love."

"Why should I?" demanded Achilles. "I am in love with him."

This was getting worse and worse! "Achilles," said Odysseus, pacing his words deliberately to keep his temper in check. "This is madness. How could you of all people be taken in by a pretty face?"

Achilles' expression darkened and Odysseus knew at once that he'd said the wrong thing. "I warned you before," growled the warrior through clenched teeth. "I am not just attracted to Paris because of his beauty, nor do I just want him for sex. I love him! Don't force me to make your wife a widow by saying anything like that again."

"I'm sorry," apologized Odysseus. "But there is much at stake here."

"On that we agree."

"And the peace and alliances that we seek to build with Troy would crumble in an instant if King Priam even suspects that you and Prince Paris are," Odysseus paused, groping for the correct words, "are whatever it is that you are."

"I don't fear the all-mighty Priam," smirked Achilles. "How would that old man keep me from his son?"

"He is not just an old man!" Odysseus hissed in horror. "He is the ruler of what is now the most powerful city in the Aegean. With a wave of his hand he could bring the entire army of Troy down on you and your men. Is all of this worth risking the slaughter of the Myrmidons?"

"And what would you risk for Penelope?" the warrior asked. "When you answer that question, you will have the answer to your question."

Before Odysseus could respond, King Priam rose from his seat and cleared his throat. "My most noble guests," he announced dramatically, if insincerely. "I hope that the feast tonight was to your liking. Now it is time for the night's festivities to begin!"

All around the table the men rose, eager to blow off steam by emerging themselves in Troy's finest entertainment and methods of celebration. Odysseus, however, remained rooted in place, distracted by the interaction between the king and the prince. Paris was speaking, looking especially submissive and timid and Priam was nodding his head. Paris bowed and turned away. He had given Paris permission to leave, Odysseus realized as he watched the boy leave the hall.

Odysseus sighed with relief. "Well, maybe now we can talk without you being," he said, turning to – nothing. Achilles had left without a sound while he was observing the Trojan royals. "So distracted," he concluded, the defeat evident in his voice.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Nervousness and an emotion that he didn't quite recognize formed a lump in Paris' throat as he sneaked to the garden to meet Achilles. Why was he doing this? It seemed insane that he would risk his father's wrath, risk the chance of being offered as a pleasure toy to the Greeks. But Achilles had promised to protect him from that, and against all common sense Paris wanted to trust him at his word.

Achilles was already waiting for him when he arrived. "Good evening, Paris," he said with an unreadable smile playing across his lips.

Paris quirked an eyebrow, hoping the gesture would disguise how flustered and confused he was feeling. "Are we forsaking the formalities of proper titles, then?" he asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible but failing miserably.

"You're the only one here who would still find them necessary," replied Achilles. "I do believe that the way I feel about you goes far beyond the bounds of polite formalities; therefore I don't see why I should still address you as "prince."

"Oh?" asked Paris cautiously. "And what exactly about your feelings for me would grant you the right to be so forward?"

Achilles' smile widened. "That I'm in love with you, Paris of Troy."

The blood in Paris' veins ran cold. Priam's words slammed unbidden into his mind. He wanted so badly to believe that Achilles didn't just want him for sex, but that's all his father apparently thought him good for.... "I don't believe you," he whispered fearfully.

"Why not?" asked Achilles, trying not to show his alarm at the sudden change in Paris' mood.

Paris tried to dart away but the Greek grabbed his arm before he could do so. "Let me go!" he cried in alarm. Startled, Achilles complied immediately. "What were you going to do? Your charms weren't getting me into bed fast enough, so you were going to force me instead? I wanted so badly to believe you cared..."

Achilles grabbed both of his forearms and pulled him forward, causing the boy to cry out wordlessly in wild panic. "I would _never_, he said forcefully, looking into Paris' eyes intensely, "bring an unwilling partner into my bed. Not by tricks, or brutality, or even money." He let go and breathed deeply, closing his eyes as a memory he spent his whole life burying resurfaced. "I know what it's like to be terrified that someone's going to rape you."

"How?" Paris was truly stunned. "You're –"

"You're surprised?" inquired Achilles, his voice and expression full of grim humor. "I'm not pleasing enough to the eye for someone to carry off?"

"You're very pleasing to the eye!" Paris blurted out without thinking. Redness crept into his cheeks and he ducked his head. "What I meant was," he stammered, wishing for a kind earthquake to come and end his embarrassment, "that I'm surprised because you're, well, you're _Achilles_."

"I wasn't always _Achilles_ the greatest warrior in the world," he informed Paris wryly. "Not back then. I was a seven-year-old boy, the son of a powerful man and a goddess. A prize catch for kidnappers, really."

He sat down heavily on a bench. Paris slid down next to him and unconsciously took the warrior's hands in his own. "They just came out of nowhere," Achilles continued. "Kept telling me that they'd get money out of me one way or another. I sat on that boat, scared out of my mind, while some disgusting imbecile spared no detail in describing everything he wanted to do to me."

Paris swallowed hard. "Did they –"

"No," replied Achilles with a curl of his lips. "It's not a good idea to kidnap the child of a sea goddess and then try to carry him off on a ship. I was with them for about a half-hour before the waters rose up. The boat was destroyed entirely and everyone else drowned while I was transported safely back to the beach near my father's lands."

"She must love you very much," commented Paris, with just a touch of envy in his tone.

"She was fuming," the warrior recalled. "She was trying not to show it, of course; she didn't want to scare me any more than I already was. She just handed me a shell necklace and said not to worry. _'Any fool that would do harm to my child will be a dead fool soon enough'_ were her exact words, I believe."

Paris reached up, tentatively touching the necklace that Achilles was wearing. "Is that when you got this?" he asked quietly.

"No," Achilles told him, gently covering the boy's hands with his own. He felt them tremble, but neither one of them pulled away. "My mother always gives me a shell necklace every time we meet. It's her way of letting me know that she's always with me, I suppose. She gave me this one just this afternoon, right before I realized I'm in love with you."

"Why do you keep saying that to me?" Paris asked plaintively, not realizing that he just licked his lips. They were sitting so close together. "Why are you even telling me all of this at all?"

Achilles cupped his cheek gently. "I've never told anyone else any of this," he murmured. "But I want you to know that there's more to me than just the myth of Achilles, just like there's more to you than the tales of your beauty. Also, because it's not enough for me to love you," he added, his eyes straying to the prince's lips and then back up at his warm brown eyes. "I want you to love me back."

"But, but," stammered Paris, not understanding the ache in his heart. "But I don't."

"You don't need to love me right now," said Achilles with playful exasperation. "I just want to know that there's a possibility that someday you could. I'll be quite content with that hope."

"I – I don't know," Paris hesitated. "I've never been in love before; I wouldn't know how it felt even if I was."

"What do you feel when you look at me?" Achilles asked him. "Nothing but a Greek brute who's lying to you, who only wants to conquer you so he can brag about it to everyone he meets?"

"Not at all," Paris whispered, tremors in his voice. "I want to believe everything you tell me. I want to feel safe and cared for, like I did when you held me on the beach this afternoon. You tell me that you love me, that you'd take me away from all of this with just a word, and all I want is for that to be true. My father would just say that all of that is just more evidence of my stupidity."

"It's not," growled Achilles fiercely. Protectively, Paris realized. "It's evidence of how you're capable of feeling deep emotions that he could never even entertain. That your heart is good and your spirit hasn't been crushed by him yet."

Paris hadn't felt this way in a long time; he was _happy_. Achilles was saying all of these nice things, trusting him with such a painful secret, and it made his soul sing with joy. Sure, it could all end in heartbreak, but what of it? It seemed like he'd gone around for years with a broken heart. Any pain would be worth enduring as long as he could feel this way for only one more moment. "You," he breathed, then smiled. "I could fall in love with you, Achilles."

With that declaration, he closed the space between them and placed a tentative kiss on Achilles' mouth.

To be continued...


	7. Possibilities

The kiss was a lot like the boy who initiated it: chaste, sweet, a bit timid, but revealing a fire hidden deep within that promised that this could one day lead to something more. _'But not today,'_ Achilles thought with only a little regret. Paris was still too afraid for anything more passionate at the moment. No matter how badly the warrior wanted to take it further, he knew that whatever was to come to pass between them in the future would be worth the wait.

Instead Achilles let Paris control the kiss, happy and content with what it meant. The prince felt safe enough with him to cross that line. He was attracted enough to kiss him. Most importantly, his heart was open to the possibility of loving him. Achilles almost had to laugh at himself, for he was being as sweet and gentle as all of those blubbering idiots in love that he used to scorn. Now he understood that only a fool would allow the harsh judgments of others keep him from indulging in this feeling.

All too soon for the Greek, Paris drew back. He stared at the mouth that he'd just kissed as if amazed by his own boldness. "I've never," he stammered nervously, bringing his fingers to his lips. "Was that okay?"

"I don't think I've ever been kissed with such sincerity before," Achilles reassured with a smile. Suddenly, he registered what the boy almost said and wrinkled his brow. "You just said _'I never.'_ Have you never kissed anyone before?"

"I used to kiss Hector when I was a little boy," replied Paris, a tad defensive. "Whenever he came to visit me, I'd jump into his arms and give him a kiss on the cheek."

"I meant in a romantic way."

Paris blushed both at the embarrassment of his misinterpretation and at something darker that the question inadvertently brought to the surface. "No, I never kissed anyone like that," he hedged, looking away in shame.

Achilles caught his chin and turned his head back. "There is nothing that you have to be ashamed of around me," he told him firmly, looking directly into his eyes. "Now tell me; has anyone kissed you in a less-than-chaste manner?"

"Not on the mouth," murmured Paris, closing his eyes as the memories flashed in his mind. "But when he touched me –" His eyes snapped open. What had he just revealed?!

Achilles' nostrils flared as his expression hardened and anger pierced out of his eyes. "Who touched you?" he demanded.

"King Agamemnon," the prince burst out, frightened that he'd incited the Greek's infamous temper. "He visited here when I was thirteen. One night, after I left a banquet, he cornered me in a corridor. He – he kissed and licked and even bit my neck, all the while touching me, touching me where – where he shouldn't. Hector found us and made him stop," he added hastily.

Achilles considered this for a moment. "I'm sorry he's dead then," he finally spoke.

Confusion etched Paris' face. "What?"

"If he were still alive, I'd kill him in a way he so richly deserved," declared Achilles fiercely. "After breaking every bone in his hands one by one, of course. That will be the fate of anyone who touches you without your consent, I promise you."

Was he destined to be surprised by this man for the rest of his life? Paris was amazed to realize just how much he liked that thought – and the idea of spending a lifetime with Achilles. "I don't want you to do all that," he said gravely.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because afterwards you would be locked away or worse!" exclaimed Paris. He took a deep breath and allowed a playful smile to spread across his face. "And then I wouldn't be able to kiss you again."

Achilles shut his eyes and forced his breathing to become even, all the while clutching the prince close to him. "You've ruined me," he sighed contently. "Before, I was just a warrior who dreamed of fighting strategies, came alive only during battles, and wanted nothing more than glory and a name that would live forever. I don't need that anymore; I wouldn't care if no one else knew my name as long as I could hear you whisper it every day. Do you know what's in my dreams now, Paris? The sound of waves as I lay on the sand with you in my arms."

"Far, far away from Troy," added Paris wistfully.

Achilles raised the boy's hand to his lips. "All you have to do is ask," he reminded him hopefully.

"I know," Paris told him gently. "But I can't. At least not right now." He planted another chaste kiss on the Greek's lips and pulled away, frowning. "How –"he started and then flushed. Telling himself firmly that he didn't have to be embarrassed by this around Achilles, he started again. "I've seen people who, well, move their mouths around when they kiss. How do they do that?"

Achilles smiled at his naiveté. "They open their mouths," he explained with amused patience. "Would you like me to show you what they do?"

"Oh, yes," nodded Paris, nervous but enthused. "But isn't it uncomfortable to have to hold your tongue back for so long?"

"Paris," stated Achilles before he closed the inches between their lips, "don't hold back your tongue."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Paris looked both ways before he motioned to Achilles that all was clear and it was safe to enter the dark corridor that led from the garden to the inside palace. He was red-faced and giddy, knowing only that the feelings in his heart were dangerously close to love and an ache that he never thought he'd experience was starting to stir whenever he thought of the wonderful things that Achilles did with his tongue. All he was focused on at the moment was getting another breathtaking kiss before he went to bed. Achilles, for his part, was rapt with the boy before him and how the spark within him finally seemed to be kindled. Neither had ever felt anything like that before.

They were too enthralled with each other to notice the old man in the shadows, the one who'd been spying on their every move and word in the garden.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Odysseus was waiting for him in his sleeping quarters when he returned. "Where. Have. You. Been?" the king asked in a hard tone, enunciating each word as if it was all he could do to keep from flying into a fury.

"In. The. Garden," imitated Achilles, supremely irritated by his friend's presumption. This was getting very old!

"And what were you doing there?" pressed Odysseus.

"I was learning," he replied flatly. "I've fallen in love with plants. The only thing left for me to do is to give up the warrior's life and become a groundskeeper. Now get out."

Odysseus held his ground. "I begged you to stay away from the prince," he snapped. "I've reasoned with you, told you how badly this is going to turn out. Don't make me order you, Achilles!"

"I don't take orders from you," Achilles growled back, his voice dangerously low. "You are not my king! Neither you or anyone else can command me."

"This isn't about your pride!" Odysseus blew up. "Can you move beyond the myth of Achilles the uncontrollable warrior for one moment? This has nothing to do with power, submission, and who has the authority to command who. This is about common sense and simple decency. Do you think that Priam differentiates between my people and the Myrmidons? No; all he sees are Greeks. It stands to reason, then, that if he should discover you doing gods-know-what with his youngest child, my people and I will be dragged into it as well."

"Then I suggest that you stop shouting before someone overhears," was Achilles petulant response.

"I'm not asking for anything unreasonable," hissed the Grecian king through gritted teeth. "Just for you not to get involved with someone whose future does NOT include a lifetime on a _Greek_ shore. I don't want you to risk everything I've worked so hard for on a fling that's going to end sooner rather than later."

"Futures change."

Odysseus' heart dropped. "What do you mean by that?"

"Paris' future changed the moment I fell in love with him," declared Achilles. "And now it does in fact include a lifetime on a Greek shore. He isn't staying here, left to the non-existent mercy of King Priam. When the Myrmidons set sail, Paris will be standing at my side on the ship."

"That can't happen." Odysseus was nearing a state of blind panic. "It's not your place to decide these things. The king may act, well, a little odd when it comes to the prince, but I'm sure he has his best interests at heart."

"Are you so blinded by the promise of peace," Achilles spat out in disgust, "that you can't see what's before your very eyes. Priam has done everything in his power to make Paris feel like he's nothing. I can't stand the thought of abandoning someone I love to a lifetime of belittlement. Do you hear me, Odysseus? I love Paris and I won't leave him with that cold bastard."

"You're going to start a war," said Odysseus softly, almost to himself. "The Trojans won't just tolerate you taking flight with the prince. They'll try to retrieve him and war will break out."

He snapped his head up and looked Achilles dead in the eye. "I won't fight on your side," he warned. "I'll try to keep Ithaca out of it if I can; but if that's not possible, I'll fight side-by-side with Prince Hector and the army of Troy. I refuse to pit my kingdom against what is now the most powerful city in the world so you can play house with Prince Paris."

"You must do what you think is right," replied Achilles simply, turning his back on the king.

"Achilles..."

"You do what you think is right," reiterated Achilles stubbornly. Odysseus sighed and walked out. "And I'll do what I think is right."

To be continued...

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed!_

_A question was poised to me a while ago, that I would have answered last week if I hadn't been so frazzled, about the possibility of revising Family Secrets. That was the first chapter fanfic I ever wrote so I'm rather attached to it. At the same time, it was definitely more rushed and less detailed than this story and I have entertained the idea of revising it. For now all I can say is that it won't be happening at this very moment, and if I do end up revising it I promise I won't take down the original story. _


	8. One man's solution is another man's prob...

Lord Isidore was not a man who appreciated the challenge of complications, especially when said complications threatened something that he'd been dreaming about for years. His position in the palace allowed him to watch Paris grow up into the gorgeous creature that he was now and he'd come to greatly anticipate the night that he would finally relieve the prince of his virginity. Fantasies about Paris pinned naked beneath him, screaming for mercy while he showed none came to mind every hour of the day. When the king told him that the time would come sooner than expected, Isidore had been overjoyed enough to give the whore who'd been with him a very thorough refresher course on how to please a powerful man. Soon he would be able to finally act out all of his desires on the object of his twisted lust.

But now complications had arisen in the form of one man: Achilles. Priam had shared with Isidore all of his suspicions about things that could have transpired between the Greek and Paris, as well as his threat about what would happen if the suspicions should be proven true, but the lord had privately dismissed them. After all, the king made it no secret that he would be suspicious of _any_ man that came into contact with the boy; not to mention that years of Isidore touching him, giving him looks that flaunted his desires, had made Paris skittish about anything remotely concerning sex. He'd been quite secure in that belief until last night.

The sight of Paris and Achilles kissing in the garden had been..._unsettling_. The warrior had shown a gentleness and respect that Lord Isidore had spent years conditioning Paris not to expect or feel like he deserved. Savage though he was, Achilles seemed to be using an alternative method to get between the boy's legs; one that was working quite well, judging by Paris' response. Even the threat of being ravaged by a room full of Greeks hadn't been enough to discourage him. At this rate, Paris would be surrendering his virginity to Achilles before the lord had the chance to take it for himself. The whole situation was intolerable!

Yes, Achilles had to be eliminated. Fortunately, men like Achilles were relatively easy to dispose of if you knew how to do it right. Lord Isidore had a plan, and he was going to "accidentally run into" a vital pawn right now.

"Lord Isidore!" cried a startled Lucius as the two collided. The young nobleman and soldier hastily picked up scrolls he'd been carrying. "Please forgive my clumsiness."

"It was entirely my fault," Isidore told him, feigning a state of upset preoccupation. "I was just so distracted. What he said about Prince Hector –"

"Prince Hector?" interrupted Lucius, right on cue. How the lord loved it when people were so predictable! "Did someone dare speak ill of Troy's crown prince?"

Isidore grabbed his arm firmly. "Are you truly loyal to our beloved prince, Lucius?" he asked, extremely proud of himself for not retching. Hector – much too kind, weak, and attached to Paris, as far as he was concerned – was another potential complication for his plans and someone he regarded with a lot of contempt.

"Yes, my lord," responded Lucius fiercely. "I serve under his command and am as loyal and true as my father, who sits on the king's council."

This was almost too easy. "Then please allow me to share the words that froze my heart." Isidore took a deep breath for dramatic emphasis and continued: "I overheard that Greek, Achilles, brag to his men how he was going to lull King Priam into a false sense of security by agreeing to a treaty. He vowed that the city of Troy would be plundered and leveled before he set sail for his homeland."

"Outrageous!" gasped Lucius, completely scandalized. "Has the man no honor?"

"It only gets worse," confided the lord gravely, barely able to swallow a chuckle. "When one of those barbarian Myrmidons asked how he could do that with Prince Hector fighting for Troy, he merely scoffed and said that he would scatter the bones of _'that whoreson'_ up and down the beach."

"It is damnable!" raged Lucius. "He won't get away with it. I'll keep him in check and foil any actions he may take. That way, Prince Hector can teach him exactly who the whoreson is when he returns. How dare that brute impugn the prince's honor in such a low manner?"

'_Damn!'_ Lord Isidore thought he'd had him right where he wanted him. "That is certainly –"he said a little too quietly as he plotted out his next words. How could he inflame this naïve soldier without sounding too obvious about his intentions?

"Good morning, Prince Paris!" called out Lucius as the boy passed by, not hearing the lord's words.

"Good morning Lucius," said Paris, smiling warmly. The warmth left his expression and voice as he turned to the young noble's companion. "And to you as well, Lord Isidore."

"Prince Paris," acknowledged Isidore with a nod. Paris inclined his head to the both of them and continued on his way.

"Did you see that? He seems so much more joyful than usual," Lucius observed, sounding genuinely happy to see the younger prince in a good mood. It still amazed Isidore that most of the people of Troy actually liked Paris. How they couldn't see what a little whore he was destined to be was beyond him. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if Priam had a difficult time controlling the outrage when Paris became publicly became a prostitute by trade. Oh well; it wasn't his concern...

An evil thought popped into Isidore's mind and it took all of his restraint not to grin from ear to ear. "He would not be so if he know what Achilles said," he informed his duped pawn. "For that _animal_ boasted that Hector was so weak that the prince wouldn't be able to stop him from ravaging Paris right in front of him. He said," added the lord, really glad that his robes were large enough to hide his arousal as his own fantasies danced around his mind. "No, he bragged that he would allow his men to use poor Prince Paris to sate their lusts after he was done with him just to _'put the whoreson in his place.'_ After that, he plans on taking our youngest prince back to Greece to be his pleasure slave."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The banquet hall was once again filled with talking, laughter, and activity as the royal family, Troy's noblemen, and the visiting Greeks waited for the first course of the meal to be served. Achilles' cousin, Patroclus, smirked as he watched the mighty warrior study Paris' every move. "So the powerful Achilles has fallen?" he asked innocently.

Achilles spared him a glance and a raised eyebrow. "What are you talking about, cousin?" he asked. "Do I look like I've fallen?"

"In love," teased Patroclus. "It seems to me that the prince of Troy has your heart." He saw Paris peek over at Achilles with the same gooey look in his eyes. "And perhaps you have his?"

The response died on Achilles' lips as the ornate doors of the room burst open and a Trojan warrior stormed in, fury brimming below his obviously noble surface. "Lucius!" exclaimed King Priam. "What do you think you're doing?"

"My apologies, King Priam, for my abrupt entrance," said Lucius, trying to remain as formal and civilized as possible. "I come here with the intent to uphold our prince's honor."

"Speak your peace then," ordered Priam, most annoyed at the intrusion.

Lucius wanted to tell them everything that he believed Achilles had said but forced himself to hold his tongue. Lord Isidore had urged him to keep it a secret for as long as he could. If the Greeks knew that they were aware of their treacherous plans, he reasoned, they would attack right away, before Troy had the chance to sufficiently prepare for such fight. Though it went against everything in his nature, Lucius knew that right now he had to bend the truth. "There is one among the Greeks that claims the title of the greatest warrior alive," he said, his voice perfectly even.

Achilles slowly rose to his feet. "That title is bestowed upon me," he declared. "And it was rightly earned. What of it?"

"Only because you have yet to meet Prince Hector on the battlefield," replied Lucius haughtily. "It is a dishonor to him to let you assert that title without a challenge. In his absence, I challenge you to fight."

A collective gasp ran around the room. Achilles glanced at Paris, who stared back with an expression of confusion and his eyes wide with alarm. The boy shook his head ever so slightly, silently begging Achilles not to do anything rash. "What could have possibly entered your mind," the Greek asked, "for you to make such a suicidal request?"

Lucius' blood boiled as he observed the brute look at Troy's youngest prince, who was so obviously afraid of him. "Only the pride, honor, and rightful glory of Troy's crown prince," he shot back before lowering his voice to a venomous whisper that only Achilles could hear: "And the plan to ravage Prince Paris." There! Let the Greek know that he knew!

Achilles saw red as his fury grew to substantial proportions. Had the stupid young man just threaten to _rape_ Paris?! He was too far-gone mentally to realize how unlikely it was that a Trojan would taunt him with that. All he could think about was how the only way he could protect his love was by tearing the soldier in front of him apart with his bare hands.

He took a step forward but was stopped by both Paris' fearful gasp and Patroclus' hand on his arm. No, he wouldn't do it in here; he'd destroy this mockery of a man in front of the entire city. "I accept your challenge," he growled through gritted teeth.

"It is agreed then," interjected Priam, eager to take control of the situation. "The challenge will take place tomorrow morning. To the winner will go all the glory as well as a prize of his own choosing, as is the custom of Troy. Now let us all be seated so that the feast can begin."

"My, my, my," clucked Isidore, seated beside Paris as usual. "I wonder what that was all about."

"A challenge was not unexpected," answered Paris as lightly as he could manage, given that his stomach was tied in knots. "The Lord Achilles has a coveted title and the soldiers of Troy are always mindful of Hector's glory."

"I suppose," the lord said with an exaggerated sigh. "It is a shame, though, that Lucius will die trying to add to that glory."

"I'm sure that neither warrior will break the rules like that."

"Are you now?" he purred. "I think that the Greek barbarian will be to focused on his chosen prize to pay too much attention to any pleas of defeat that Lucius says, let alone our rules of engagement. How could he not be? After all, it is most obvious that he'll ask for a night with you."

Paris refused to quail under the man's taunts. "And why would he ask for something like that?" he asked with false detachment.

"Because deep down Achilles is very much like me," tormented the vile lord. "Yes, I believe we're both the sort of men who can't be satisfied with just innocent kisses in gardens."

He smiled at the sharp intake of breath. "Of course I know," he sneered. "Don't worry your pretty little head, though; I won't tell the king. He would just toss you to those savages without a thought to the promises he made to me. Your virginity is mine, of course, and I intend to see that you remain as pure as possible until I can claim it."

"You have no claim to _anything_," hissed Paris, letting all of his hatred for the lord to fill his voice.

"You are feisty this evening, aren't you?" Isidore chuckled. His gaze turned to Achilles. "You might as well stare at him all you want tonight, you brazen slut. You know the laws of our land and that brute's temperament. He'll kill Lucius tomorrow, and you know that his punishment will be death."

To be continued...


	9. The strange things love makes you do

Paris kept his head low and his shoulders hunched as he slunk closer and closer to the chambers in the palace where the Greeks were quartered. Having spent most of his time confined in that palace, he knew all the secret nooks and shadowy corners, allowing him to hide and sneak past the Trojan guards. But once he entered those rooms he'd be forced to walk in the open; his only chance at slipping past any Greek sentries was to be as inconspicuous as possible. The beads that usually held his hair back were gone, giving some of his face some shielding, and he was dressed in his plainest clothes with no jewelry. He'd considered wearing a hood and cloak but realized that someone lurking indoors in such attire would be even more noticeable.

'_This is it,'_ thought Paris as he approached the entryway, which mercifully lacked any doorwardens. _'I have to do this for Achilles,'_ he told himself over and over again as he opened the door just wide enough and slipped inside.

Noise filled the room as Greek soldiers milled about. Most of them were Myrmidons – Paris could tell by their manner of dress – with some warriors from Ithaca intermingled throughout the crowd. What struck Paris the most about the scene was the obvious camaraderie between the men. They were talking, laughing, drunkenly singing obscene songs, and sharing fanciful (and undeniably exaggerated) conquests. It stopped the prince in his tracks for a moment. He'd never spent much time around people around his own age. His father had always insisted on locking him away from anyone and everyone who could have been his friend. He'd only had a vague notion of what he was missing, but now seeing such open displays of friendship for the first time made him realize how lonely he truly was.

No time for self-pity now, though; he had to get to Achilles. It was time to go – where? Paris leaned against the wall and discretely banged his head. He'd been so worried about getting into the chambers that he didn't stop once to think about what he was going to do once he was actually there. There was no telling if Achilles was in the crowd or not and there was no way he could navigate his way though to see without getting found out. Besides, there was a maze of separate smaller rooms in these quarters – he could be anywhere!

As he stood there berating himself and wondering what to do now, a larger figure came up behind him and grabbed his arm. Paris, his nerves already frayed and very out of his element, gasped in surprise and fear and tried to pull away.

The grip on his arm held firm. "And what would the youngest prince of Troy be doing here among us _barbarians_?" asked a gruff voice. "Come to join in our festivities?"

Paris turned slowly to face the angry dark-haired Myrmidon. "I'd hoped to go unnoticed," he blurted out, immediately regretting his choice of words.

The man sneered. "You wanted to slum with the commoners in anonymity, huh?" he scoffed. "Even dressed down – well, as much as a spoiled little prince can – so you could blend in better. Don't want the nobles knowing what _common_ tastes in entertainment you have. Was that your plan?" He shook the prince a little. "Answer me!"

Their confrontation had drawn a crowd as word quickly got around that Paris of Troy was unexpectedly in their presence. Before that evening the men might have been just curious, but now a Trojan noble had challenged their leader. Paris could feel the suspicion and hostility in their glares. "It's not like that," he protested, both about the voiced and unvoiced accusations. "I need to speak with the Lord Achilles."

Murmurs broke out in the crowd. The boy cried out in alarm as the dark-haired man tightened his grip. "And why would Achilles be interested in anything that a pampered little Trojan has to say?"

"If you have to ask that question, Eudores, then you are truly a half-wit," commented a blonde young man not much older than Paris as he stepped between them. Under the heat of his scowl Eudores reluctantly let the prince go, but didn't move away.

"I'm Patroclus," the interloper introduced himself. "The cousin of Achilles."

Feeling a little more at ease upon hearing the kindness in Patroclus' voice Paris smiled shyly. "I thought you looked a lot like him," he said nervously. "I'm Paris."

"He knows that already," Eudores broke in. "We're not stupid, no matter what you Trojans seem to think."

"Maybe he's just trying to be polite," snapped Patroclus as Paris flushed. "Pay him no mind, Paris."

"I need to talk to Achilles," pleaded the prince. "His life is in danger."

"Achilles is the greatest warrior in the world, boy." Eudores once again couldn't hold his tongue. "That Trojan is no threat to him. You're just trying to get that insolent bastard out of having to face him! Having an affair with him, I would think."

Patroclus rolled his eyes. "Further proof that you haven't quite mastered thinking yet," he mocked, clearly annoyed.

"No!" cried Paris. "I'm not trying to do anything like that! And I'm not – I wouldn't – I'm –"

"Don't worry," Patroclus assured him warmly. "I've seen the way my cousin looks at you. I also saw how you smiled at him last night. I believe you have his best interests in mind. Proceed."

Paris gave him a grateful look. "Achilles is being set up," he confided urgently.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

That he had a fight the next day was the only reason why Achilles was preparing for sleep instead of out in the common chambers with his men. He wanted to be in peak form when he tore apart that vile Trojan in the arena.

He was almost o bed when a sharp, urgent knock sounded on his door. "What is it?" he barked.

"We must come in, cousin!" Patroclus' voice answered. "It can't wait!"

Achilles groaned in irritated resignation. "Then come in and be quick about it."

The door swung open and Patroclus came in, flanked by Eudores and – "Paris!" Achilles cried, surprised and alarmed. What had happened to drive his young love into Greek quarters in the middle of the night? He rushed forward, grabbed the boy's face, and planted a kiss on his mouth. "What brings you here?"

"A ridiculous story about your life being in jeopardy," scoffed Eudores.

Achilles shot him a look that made his blood run cold. "Hold your tongue before I cut it out," the warrior growled. His face and tone softened as he turned back to Paris. "Now what's this all about?" he questioned, caressing his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Lord Isidore is setting you up," Paris informed him. "He thinks that you're going to slay Lucius during the fight tomorrow –"

"I am." Achilles' voice was as hard as stone.

Paris' face paled. "You can't," he begged softly.

"I can and I will," said Achilles simply. "Do you know what he muttered to me when he issued that challenge? He threatened to rape you, Paris! How could I _not_ put an end to his horrible existence?"

"No," said a shocked Paris, shaking his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Lucius serves under my brother; he's always seemed like a good and noble soldier –"

"He is a monster," Achilles spat out. "Don't defend him!"

"Let's try to be rational about this for a moment," interjected Patroclus. "Does anyone beside the people in this room know about your relationship?"

"Just Odysseus."

"And Lord Isidore," sighted Paris. Achilles looked at him sharply, silently demanding an explanation. "He saw us, Achilles; he was watching everything that happened last night in the garden. He told me so himself after Lucius issued his challenge. I saw them talking earlier; he must have incited him in some way."

"Or else that vile man told him what he saw," argued Achilles stubbornly. "They must be in cahoots and he decided to use that information and his own twisted desires against me."

"I'm sure that he doesn't' know that anything actually happened between us," Paris stressed desperately. "If he did and he were the monster that you think he is, why issue the challenge at all? It would be easier just to blackmail me into his bed. And if he's the good man that I believe him to be, he would have told my father about it immediately, out of concern for the honor of the royal family."

"And if he didn't know at all," added Patroclus sagely, "then why say anything about Paris? Unless, of course, he thinks that _you're_ the threat."

Eudores wore a pained expression. "They're right, my lord," he conceded.

Achilles rubbed his and over his face. "Okay, fine," he said. "Let's say for a moment that all of this is true. How could Lord Isidore be setting me up? Everyone knows very well that I've fought warriors with more skills than that Lucius will ever have without even getting a scratch."

"He's counting on it being a battle to the death," Paris explained. "It is against the laws of this land for one opponent to kill another opponent in an official challenge, which is what this became when my father sanctioned it. A noble who breaks that rule will most likely be able to avoid punishment, but you're a stranger in the city with no agreements or treaties protecting you yet. The fact that you're a foreigner would push all of this over the edge and you'd be put to death immediately."

For once in his life, Achilles didn't know how to proceed. "I have to fight him, Paris," he asserted weakly. "My honor and reputation would be destroyed if I didn't."

"Then fight him," replied Paris matter-of-factly. "Just don't kill him. Control your temper."

"Do you realize what that's asking of me?" demanded the Greek incredulously. "I've never controlled my temper in a battle! And now you want me to enter into a fighting arena with a man who most likely wants to kill me and yet try to restrain myself?"

"I _don't_ want you to die!" confessed Paris, impassioned. He ducked his head, embarrassed by his outburst. "Just the thought of that happening breaks my heart."

"Oh, Paris," murmured Achilles, feeling his resolve crumble. "I'll try. I won't make you a promise that I might not be able to keep, but for you I'll try."

Paris wrapped his arms around him, reveling in the warmth and love that surrounded him as the Greek embraced him. "Thank you," he whispered as the tension left his body. Then he realized something that he was too worked up to notice before. "Are you naked?"

Achilles pulled away, trying very hard – and failing – not to give him a teasing grin. "I was getting ready for bed," he offered in way of an explanation. "I don't wear clothes to bed; it's uncomfortable."

Paris turned beet-red. "I believe that's my cue to show Paris to the door," observed Patroclus.

"One moment," said Achilles as he wrapped a blanket around his waist. He grabbed the seashell necklace that his mother had given him off of a nearby table. "I want you to have this," he told Paris as he tied it around the boy's neck. "I'll feel better knowing that it's in your keeping. It's yours now, no matter what happens tomorrow."

Leaning in, Paris kissed Achilles in the way the warrior had taught him in the garden. "You are the reason why, for the first time in year, I look forward to the coming of new days," he declared, his voice shaking with emotion. "Please, please do everything in your power to ensure that you'll be there with me for each and every one of those days."

To be continued...

_A/N: Happy All Saints Day, people!_


	10. For glory and honor

As far as Lord Isidore was concerned, it was a perfect day. The sun was shining, the temperature was pleasant, and Achilles was about to die in a most horrific way. He could barely contain his glee as he watched the people file into the seats that surrounded the arena from his spot on the royal platform. In a few moments, the complication would be gone and that last little rebellious part of Paris would be destroyed forever. It was glorious.

"Good day, my friend," greeted Priam, interrupting his musings. Troy's king took his seat but Paris, who'd followed after him, walked to the edge of the platform and peered out. He couldn't take his eyes off of the place where Achilles would be fighting in a few too short moments. _'Please Apollo,'_ he prayed silently. _'Protect Achilles from both Lucius and himself.'_

Lord Isidore slithered up behind him. "Is it not a fine morning, my prince?" he purred, breathing into the boy's ear. Paris flinched and refused to answer. "Of course, it will be all the more magnificent when the ground is stained with _Greek_ blood."

Paris fingered the shell necklace around his throat and repeated his prayer not only to Apollo, but also to Thetis and any other god or goddess that was listening. He couldn't lose Achilles that day. Now that he had hope that a happier life was possible, to be robbed of it now would be worse than never having it at all. If Achilles was slain, Paris was sure that he would die as well.

"What an – _unusual_ – piece of jewelry," continued the lord with a sneer on his face and a distinctly unpleasant tone. "Now, only one man would be crass enough give such a cheap trinket to a Trojan prince; in fact, I've even seen him wearing it. Tsk, tsk – what would your father do if he knew you were accepting love tokens from that brute? Do you think he would follow through on that threat of his?" He ran his fingers down one side of Paris' jaw. "You remember that threat, you wanton whore?"

"I remember them clearly," Paris hissed back. He couldn't take this man's molestation now, not when he had more important things to worry about! "But I'll take that risk. I'd rather be deflowered by a Greek mob than let you have the honors. So go ahead; tell my father that I'm taking love tokens. Tell him _everything_."

No, Isidore didn't like this new strength that Paris was displaying at all. He grabbed the boy's chin and forcibly moved his head as close to his mouth as he could in such a public place. "When I relieve you of your virtue," he growled, his lips just brushing against Paris' ear, "you will never forget the pain."

Paris ground his teeth to keep from showing any fear. "You won't live to touch me," he whispered.

"Is that so?" the lord smirked. "Who will stop me? That Greek? Do you really think he'll walk out of this arena alive? Let me correct that right now."

Releasing the prince, Lord Isidore turned to Priam. "My king," he said solemnly. "The rules state that the winner may have a prize of his own choosing."

"Yes," confirmed the king. "What of it?"

"Lord Achilles may very well triumph today," Isidore went on. "If he does, I have no doubt in my mind that he will demand something involving Prince Paris. How would it look, sire, if such a low and savage Greek practically announced to everyone in the city that he plans to bed a Trojan prince? It would be an even worse insult than the night he insisted on spending time alone with him."

"He won't do that, Father." The words flew out of Paris' mouth before he could stop them. Priam glared at him and he felt the heat rise into his cheeks. "I mean, why would the Lord Achilles even bother to ask for such a thing?"

"Do not speak his name, you stupid boy!" snapped Priam, bristling as if Paris had just insulted him. "In fact, do not speak at all, as it is not one of your attributes. Lord Isidore is correct; I will not tolerate such boldness from him. Should that brute even utter your name, he'll be put to death instantly."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles could feel the energy in the air as he strode into the arena. The Trojans were cheering his opponent's name as Lucius entered the arena from the other side. The Greeks were behind him, screaming his name. Well, all but one; Odysseus was silent, though his eyes were burning holes into the back of his head. He couldn't see how this fight could do anything but destroy all talks for alliances and enflame the Greek/Trojan rivalry that had held the Aegean area in turmoil for so many years. Ithaca's king, like everyone else in the stands, was expecting a bloodbath.

The two competitors met in the middle, in front of the royal platform. "Good day, people of Troy and visiting Greeks!" shouted out Priam. "Today we shall see if the 'greatest warrior in the world' can indeed live up to that title. The rules are as follows: you must fight until one of you yields. The victor may ask for one thing for a prize; anything of his choosing."

Paris squirmed a bit in his place next to the king's throne. _'What's troubling him?'_ wondered the warrior, chancing a glance in the boy's direction. He looked nervous, but managed a smile when he saw Achilles looking at him. Achilles let the corners of his mouth upturn slightly when he saw Paris touch the necklace.

"Are you ready?" called Priam grandly.

"Yes," he declared.

"Yes, sire," growled Lucius.

"Then take your places and let the fight commence!"

The roar of the crowd echoed around the arena but neither fighter paid any attention to it. "I saw you," Lucius spat out under his breath. "Your eyes and mind are always on Troy's youngest prince, aren't they? I'm going to bleed all of that desire out of your body."

The ignorant young man was so busy threatening to kill him that he didn't notice that they'd reached the center. Without warning, Achilles whipped around and drew his sword. Lucius barely had time to dodge the ensuing blow. "And just how will you do that?" raged Achilles as the noble pulled out his own sword and began his attack. "There's nothing quick about you except your words."

As the fight continued, Achilles' mind began to clear of all things except the task at hand. He was approaching that place; a mindset in battle where all he wanted was to win. He would add to his glory, to his honor, to his reputation, by defeating this noble at all costs...

'_And do what with all that?'_ a contrary voice popped into his mind. He was so startled that Lucius actually got a good blow in, drawing some blood from his arm. _'Will your glory, honor, and reputation love you back? Should you actually leave this arena after slaughtering a member of the nobility, then what? Paris begged you not to kill him. You will still have all of that if you don't kill him, even if that's harder to do. So what do you want more: to seek your own glory or to show Paris that you love him?'_

With a roar Achilles put all of his strength and weight behind one powerful blow that sent Lucius' sword flying right out of his hands. The Trojan warrior dove after it only to see a booted foot kick it away. He gulped at he feel of steel at his throat.

Lucius looked up to see Achilles glaring down at him with blazing eyes. "Do you yield?" the Greek demanded through gritted teeth.

"Yes." There was nothing left to say.

Achilles slowly removed his sword from Lucius' neck and held it aloft. The Myrmidons cheered but everyone else seemed to be in a stupor. Where was the carnage? Where was the bloodthirsty, savage brute that they'd heard about? Achilles silently laughed at all of them as he marched towards the platform. Fools! He still had his glory and he had Paris, who was struggling to keep an ear-to-ear grin from breaking out across his face.

'_Prince Paris,'_ Lucius thought, dazed and falling into a blind panic as he watched the Greek approach the royal seating. He failed and now that brute was ogling the young prince. How could he protect him now? His own honor be damned, he had to do something; Paris' honor and Hector's respect was at stake. Lucius grabbed his sword, jumped to his feet, and charged at Achilles, whose back was turned.

The change in Paris' demeanor was alarming. He was horrified, Achilles realized. There was danger approaching. He spun around just in time to bring the hilt of his sword down on Lucius' skill. A collective gasp ran through the crowd as the Trojan crumbled to the ground, unconscious.

An old man rushed into the arena and threw himself to ground next to Lucius, paying no mind to Achilles. "Lucius?" he cried. "My son? Please answer me!"

"Don't worry," the Greek told him grimly. "If I wasn't going to kill him, I wouldn't do it that way."

"I – I don't know why he did that," stuttered Lucius' father. "How could he do such a dishonorable thing?"

"I know why he did it." Achilles' eyes flitted to the royal platform, at both Paris and Isidore. Now that the fight was over, he found he actually pitied the naïve young soldier. All he could fault him for was being concerned about Paris and letting himself be swayed by an evil and powerful man. "And I respect him for it."

He raised his voice so that everyone in the arena could hear. "I have come to this land for an alliance, an alliance that binds the Trojans and Myrmidons together as brothers for the veneration of both our lands. This warrior fought not for his own honor but for that of the prince's" – they could make their own assumptions about _which_ prince – "and I'll not shed the blood of a brother for that."

Paris' smile was smug as the crowd cheered. "I must compliment you on your plan," he couldn't help taunting Lord Isidore, who sat beside him. "Not only are they both still alive, thank Apollo, but now Achilles is a hero to Greek and Trojan alike."

"The hour is not over yet," glowered Isidore. "Sire! Is it not time for the champion to name his prize?"

"Quite so," affirmed Priam. "Lord Achilles! You have triumphed. Now, according to our customs, you may name anything you desire as your prize."

Achilles' eyes went immediately to where Paris was sitting. "Poor little whore-prince," clucked Isidore, leaning in close to the boy. "Now he's gong to die and you're going to have to live with the knowledge that in the end all he ever saw you as was a thing to be won."

"There is only one thing that I would ask of you, King of Troy," announced Achilles. Paris tensed and held his breath. "For the remainder of my stay, I would like to be seated in Lord Isidore's customary place of honor every night at the banquets."

The roar of approval that came from the crowd made it impossible for Priam to refuse. Achilles delighted at Paris' shy, joyful smile and Isidore's scowl. He wasn't a stupid man; he knew that actually naming a member of the royal family in his request would be perceived as an unpardonable offense and he'd be put to death. More importantly, it showed Paris that he didn't want to have power over him. And now he could allow the boy to maintain his dignity at the feasts.

On the platform, Paris was trying hard not to weep as emotion overwhelmed him. Achilles truly loved him. He didn't make him feel dirty and worthless like Isidore, Agamemnon, and his father did. Achilles was a brave, honorable, and respectful man who actually loved him. In that moment Paris felt his heart swell and he knew that he could – and did – return that love.

To be continued...

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far!_


	11. Awakening desires

That night Paris felt like he was able to hold his head up high during a banquet for the first time in years. He didn't have to worry about the guests leering at him or about Lord Isidore's humiliating caresses, and it was all because of one man: Achilles. The man who would protect him, even from his own Myrmidons. Who had offered to abandon his men just to spirit him off to safety. Who didn't kill Lucius even after being attacked unprovoked because he'd promised not to. Who gave up the opportunity to acquire fabulous riches in order to allow him to regain some of his dignity.

Paris fought against the smile that was threatening to break out and reveal the contents of his heart to all. Was he in love? He'd never really _loved _anyone before except Hector, and that wasn't the same as this. While Hector gave him the only affection he'd ever received from his family, Achilles restored his trust, made him feel like he was worth something, and awoke in him desires that he never expected to feel. When he looked at the Greek, the prince could easily imagine a lifetime in a little hut, spending the days on the beach and the nights together in bed...

But thoughts like that still frightened Paris a bit. Years of Isidore's threats and molestation, Priam's apathetic remarks about what a good whore he would be, and being valued first and foremost for his beauty instilled in him a fear of physical intimacy. Now that was clashing with his growing desire for Achilles. He wanted to please him in every way, including sexually (the boy blushed at the thought), but it was going to hurt. The lecherous lord always spoke with relish about teaching him to enjoy the pain. Maybe he would have dismissed it as just another one of the man's torments, but he'd actually _seen_ it. One night a few years ago he had sneaked out, unable to stand being in his bedchamber any longer, and came across a prostitute stumbling away from a tryst. The young man was all hunched over, groaning in agony with blood seeping into the back of his garment. Paris could still hear that poor person mumbling with every step: _"It's just a part of the job."_

Maybe it wasn't even going to be a problem. It was possible that Achilles didn't want him that way. After all, he said that he would never hurt him and Paris believed that wholeheartedly. Why, the warrior hadn't even tried to take their relationship any farther than kissing. Yes that must be it; he could deal with that. They would just go on kissing and not do anything more. That ache he was feeling would go away, right? But he didn't _want_ it to – and yet he did. Oh, this was all so confusing!

Achilles cleared his throat, startling Paris out of his musings. "This has been an enjoyable evening," he said in the direction of the Trojan royals, deliberately phrasing his words so that he wouldn't be thanking the king. "But I'm going to forgo tonight's festivities and retire early. I always sleep well after a fight."

"Oh?" Priam cocked an eyebrow, sneering for a long moment at Paris before turning to Achilles. "You don't want to see the gardens again?"

Achilles' eyes stormed over. "They are not as peaceful as I thought they'd be."

"And you'll be leaving your men unsupervised?"

"My men aren't children in need of supervision," snapped Achilles sarcastically. "I'm sure they can continue to hold off their barbaric impulses until we leave the city."

"I meant," the old king elaborated, a nasty edge to his voice, "That your men might need you later. A leader must always be available to his followers."

"Of course you did," replied Achilles flippantly. "But the Myrmidons can do without me for one evening. Just in case, my cousin has instructions to aid _those who want to see me_ to my chambers."

Paris' ears pricked at the emphasis in Achilles' voice. Was that a hint? The Greek wanted to meet with him _in his chambers_. He knew what happened in bedchambers at night. So Achilles did want him that way. That thought made Paris thrilled and queasy at the same time. He glanced nervously across the table at Patroclus, who deftly winked in response.

The prince sat restlessly in his place after Achilles left, waiting for the right moment to excuse himself. At last, at last, the prostitutes came in and he seized his chance. "Father?" he asked tentatively.

"What is it?"

"May I be excused? I do not wish to socialize with – with these Greeks." That wasn't technically a lie; the Greek he wanted to be with wasn't in the hall.

"Very well," Priam consented as if he couldn't care less.

Paris bowed hastily and went straight through the doorway, pausing once he was on the other side. Maybe he should just go to his own chambers. Achilles would understand. But what if he regretted not going to his love (an excited chill ran down his spine) when he'd obviously planned for something to happen between them?

"Paris," hissed Patroclus, sneaking up on him when he wasn't looking. _'I should really start paying more attention to what's going on around me,'_ the prince thought ruefully.

"Come," the young man gestured vigorously. "If you get us past the Trojan guards, I'll get you past any of Odysseus' men that try to hinder you – that old fox has been threatening to do something like that ever since he found out you were in the Greek quarters last night."

"He doesn't approved?" asked Paris, chewing on his lip nervously.

"It's more like he's worried about the political ramifications," snorted Patroclus. "I'm glad I'm not a king, having to think about that type of nonsense all the time."

"Oh." Paris was silent for a moment before blurting out what was foremost on his mind. "Patroclus? Have you ever...ever been with, with a man?"

"Yes," Patroclus replied matter-of-factly. "Why?"

"How did you deal with the pain?"

The young Greek's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. "You haven't been with a man before?" he asked somewhat rhetorically. Paris' face reddened as he shook his head. "Oh, Paris. I'm not going to lie to you: it does hurt, but not all the time. You just – have to get through the hard part and you'll be glad you did."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles barely waited for the door to shut before he drew Paris into a soul-searing kiss. "Did you have any trouble getting here?" he panted after their mouths parted.

"None much more than before," Paris assured him. "There were a couple of Odysseus' men milling about in the common area, but Patroclus handled them. Your cousin is very nice to me."

"He'd better be," Achilles murmured, brushing the back of his hand against the boy's cheek. Paris trembled as he leaned into the touch. "Why are you shaking?"

"I'm just a little nervous," admitted Paris. "You wanting to meet me in your bedchamber and all..."

Of course; why hadn't he realized what all of this seemed like sooner? "I only did so because there isn't another safe place for us to meet," Achilles explained gently. "It's not like I was plotting to get you into bed."

He was shocked when a crestfallen expression came to Paris' face. "So – so you don't want me like that?"

"I do!" protested Achilles. "I desire you more than you know. But anything that happens between us will happen because _you _want it to."

"I want to be with you. Is that...wanton of me?"

Achilles smiled kindly, fighting the urge to push him onto the bed and show him what it was like to be loved by the son of a goddess. "It's not," he breathed. Paris gasped with pleasure as he felt the warrior brush his lips against his ear. "Your desire is beautiful. If you will let me, I'll make you feel pleasure in parts of your body that you didn't even know existed."

Paris loved Achilles. He _trusted_ Achilles and was tired of being afraid of his own feelings. He pulled Achilles into a kiss, moaning as the needy ache within him intensified. "You make me want things I never thought I'd want," he told him. Achilles grinned mischievously and thrust his body forward, rubbing against Paris' groin. The boy cried out as pleasure shot through his entire being. "Oh gods, yes. Please again! Please..._more_."

Achilles tore off his own clothing in an instant. Paris stared, fascinated; he'd seen the Greek nude before, but now he was hard. _Aroused_. He reached out tentatively and ran his fingertips down the length, feeling a strange pride at Achilles' responding moan. "Net yet, my love," he rasped. "First I will bring you to your peak."

As slowly and gently as he could manage without going insane, Achilles removed Paris' garments. The sight of his love naked in front of him took his breath away. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "There are no words to do you justice."

"It can be nothing compared to yours," said Paris. Emboldened by the previous response, he touched the warrior again, this time running his hands over his chest. He watched his nipples harden as he drew circles on them. What would happen if he did the same thing with his tongue? Only one way to find out...

"You seek to undo me," Achilles accused as mirthfully as anyone could when choking back a cry. "But first things first, Paris." He urged the prince's head up and couldn't help stealing another kiss form his swollen lips. "Sit on the edge of the bed," he instructed, "and keep your legs parted."

Paris complied, though he chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously. "What – what are you doing?" he asked, stunned as Achilles kneeled before him.

"Do you trust me?" responded Achilles, looking straight into his eyes.

"Yes."

"Then trust that you will enjoy this." With no further adieu, Achilles leaned forward and softly kissed the tip of Paris' length. The prince let out a startled cry as pure bliss shot through him, body, heart, and soul.

"Oh!" Paris groaned as Achilles took him into his mouth, surrounding him with wet heat. "By Apollo!" His body, long denied such gratification, responded eagerly and he bucked his hips as he felt the roughness of Achilles' tongue. Each moment was better than the last. "Ach, Achilles –" It felt _too_ good; he was going to go insane with pleasure...

"My love!" he cried out, peaking with an intense burst.

Achilles stared in shock as Paris fell back onto the bed, utterly spent. "Your love?" he whispered.

"Yes," confirmed Paris, gasping. "My love. I love you, Achilles."

Paris had never seen anything as breathtaking as the purely joyful smile that spread across Achilles' face at that moment. With a triumphant laugh, he leapt onto the bed next to his lover. "Say it again," he requested.

"I love you," repeated Paris. "I'm in love with you." Achilles captured his mouth with his own, trying to swallow the words, make them a part of his being. "I" – kiss – "love" – kiss – "you."

The doorknob rattled loudly as if someone was trying to break the lock. Startled, Paris clutched Achilles as close as he could. "Open this door right now!" shouted Odysseus' voice from the other side, pounding it a few times for emphasis.

"He has the worst timing," grumbled Achilles.

"Will he just go away if we don't answer?" asked Paris hopefully.

"Don't make me do something I'll regret!" Odysseus yelled, banging the door even more.

"No, he won't," Achilles told him, rolling away with a sigh. He rose to his feet and stalked to the door, wrenching it open. "What do you want?"

"Good gods," commented Odysseus in a long-suffering tone, taking in Achilles' state; sweaty, naked, and very aroused. "He can't be here, Achilles. If his father finds out he's here it won't be just your insides that are gutted and displayed for all of Troy to see."

"Fine!" snapped Achilles, slamming the door shut in his face. "I hate to admit it, but he's probably right. It's getting late; you should get back to your chambers before someone realizes that you're not there."

Paris couldn't believe it. Just when he was feeling comfortable about sleeping with Achilles, this had to happen! "But what about..." Paris gestured a little awkwardly at Achilles' hardness.

"Something we can attend to at another time."

"What about tomorrow night?" Paris suggested impulsively before he could lose his nerve again. "The guard outside my chambers takes two minute break every hour after I retire for the night to attend to, um, bodily functions," he continued, throwing his clothes on. "That's how Hector usually slips past. No one save myself and a servant boy ever actually enter, and he'll be long gone by the time you can sneak in."

"Until tomorrow night then," agreed Achilles fondly. They kissed one last time before Paris headed to the door. "I love you, Paris of Troy."

"And I love you." With that, he opened the door and hurried past the fuming Odysseus. "Good night, King Odysseus," he said with as much politeness as he could muster.

Odysseus didn't respond, but glared into the room at Achilles. "Do that all you want," Achilles taunted petulantly. "Just close the door when you leave."

Giving the king no more thought, he crawled under the covers, hoping to dream of what was to come tomorrow night.

To be continued...

_A/N: I'm mean, I know.  They won't be interrupted the next time they're in a bedchamber..._


	12. What's about to happen

This was torture. How could Achilles be expected to sit so close to Paris when he wasn't able to touch him? Curse his cruel father for making it impossible for them to even speak when they sat next to each other at the nightly feasts. Not that anything would actually _happen_ if King Priam followed through on his threat to throw Paris to his supposed barbarians guests; no one would lay a finger on him now that it was known among the Greeks that that Achilles was in love with him. Besides their respect for the prince had risen once they realized that his intervention the night before the duel was truly for the Greek lord's benefit.

"Father?" Paris' voice cut through his thoughts. Was it just him or did his love sound a tad unwell? "May I be excused for the rest of the evening?"

"Why?" demanded Priam in exasperation. There was still one course of the meal to go and the king was loath to give in to any request that the boy made. As long as he could prevent any interaction, Priam preferred to have Paris to stay at these banquets as long as possible. _'More opportunity to show off his pretty son,'_ thought Achilles, fighting the urge to spit in disgust.

"I feel quite ill," answered Paris in a small voice. His body tightened in a retch and he covered his mouth. "My stomach is unsettled. I fear I will not be able to tolerate any more food tonight." Gasping suddenly, he clutched his stomach. "I may not be able to keep down the food I've already eaten."

That certainly wouldn't do. Paris was meant to please foreign dignitaries as well as the Trojan nobles; vomiting in front of a room full of people who would surely delight in spreading such a story may hinder that. Yes, definitely very unattractive. "Very well," Priam conceded reluctantly. "Do you wish to bother a healer before you retire?"

"No thank you, Father," groaned Paris. He rose slowly and awkwardly, brushing his foot against Achilles' for a moment too long for it to be an accident as he did so. "I just require a little extra time to prepare for the night."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Odysseus watched Achilles with growing desperation during the last course of the meal. The warrior had been fidgeting the entire time, seemingly annoyed at all the food that was being brought out. What was bothering him? Paris had left earlier but that didn't quite explain Achilles' behavior. It wasn't like the prince would be waiting in the Greek quarters; Achilles seemed to understand why Paris just couldn't go there anymore. So there was no way that they were meeting again tonight because not even Achilles would be so foolhardy and reckless as to actually sneak into the prince's bedchamber…_would he?!_

Both Greeks were on their feet as soon as the feast was over and the evening's festivities began. Achilles rushed to the exit as quickly as the barest minimum of discretion and Odysseus was hot on his heels, determined to stop him before he did something that everyone would regret. Achilles almost made it too; he was out the door before Ithaca's king caught up with him. "Where do you think you're going?" he managed to get out without yelling.

"Judging by your tone, you already know the answer to that," replied Achilles petulantly. "And since I really don't have time to waste talking I'll beleaving now."

"How many times must I remind you that your actions are a threat to every Greek, and not just those in the city," cried Odysseus. "If the king finds out even the Greeks who are on the other side of the Aegean will be at his mercy."

"About as many times that I have to remind you that if you should really control your voice if you want this to remain a secret."

Odysseus' eyes grew cold. "Maybe this shouldn't remain a secret," he said darkly. "I could end this all right now if I told the king an _edited_ version of what's been going on. I could pass you off as a rogue, Achilles; and you'd be the only Greek with his guts hanging out over the gates of Troy."

"You could," stated Achilles rather matter-of-factly. "But you wouldn't do such a thing."

"No I wouldn't," admitted Odysseus, deflating a little. He still valued their friendship too much to betray him in such a matter.

"That's good," Achilles told him, a hint of malice in his good-natured smirk. "Because the Myrmidonscould bejust as dangerous an enemy for Ithaca to have as the Trojans." With that he turned to walk off.

"Wait!" Odysseus blurted out in panic. "Please, please, just think about what you're about to do! Not just to the Greeks, but also to Paris and his father. This will only create problems between them."

How could the Greek king be so blind and stupid? "I don't care," he snapped flatly. "That moronic old man isn't worthy of being the dirt beneath Paris' feet."

"He is Paris' _father_," stressed Odysseus. "Their relationship may not be as warm as it could be but King Priam loves his son. A father's love –"

"Stop," ordered Achilles. "Just stop. I can't stomach this. Go; go back to the banquet and fill your head full of fantasies about Priam being a good and noble father who loves Paris. I have somewhere better to be." This time, no amount of pleading stopped him from departing.

'_It's over,'_ Odysseus thought numbly as he staggered back into the hall and sank heavily into his seat at the table. He didn't notice that everyone else was up and enjoying the night's entertainment. He probably wouldn't have noticed if the gods chose that time to sink Troy into the sea. It was truly over. Achilles was on his way to the royal chambers – _Paris' bedchamber_. He was going to deflower the youngest prince of Troy. There would be no going back once they crossed that line. How could this result in anything but a bloody war that would reduce all the Greek lands to rubble? He stared at Paris' empty chair. Priam would surely find out about everything tonight. Sneaking into that part of the palace unnoticed was a feat that not even the great Achilles could accomplish. What would the Trojan king do once he found out all that had been going on right under his nose?

He was so deep in thought that he didn't realize that Priam had sat down next to him until the old king began speaking.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Paris ran his fingers up and down his arms, feeling the silky fabric of his sleeping robe. He'd been anxious and excited all day, just counting the hours until Achilles would be able to slip into his chambers. _'To finish what we started last night,'_ he thought with a blush.

"Are you certain that you don't want me to fetch a healer for you, my prince?" asked Julian. He'd been attending to Paris every evening for the past two years so the ten-year-old boy considered himself an authority on all of his moods. Right now, he deemed, the prince was anxious about something. He guessed that the prince needed more than just bed rest but was reluctant to call on anyone to help. "Is there anything that you need me to do?"

Besides leave as quickly as possible? "No, I'm fine," Paris assured him with a kindly smile. In fact he was better than fine; he was about to burst out of his skin with joy. Deep down he was still a little concerned that joining with Achilles would hurt but he knew he didn't have to be afraid. Last night the warrior had stopped before attaining his own satisfaction and without demanding that they set another time to rectify that. This was all Paris' choice and he believed with all of his soul that Achilles would do everything in his power to make it pleasurable for him. Just like he did last night…

"If you're sure," Julian hesitated.

"Quite sure," replied Paris, trying his best not to let the anticipation and eagerness seep into his voice. "Thank you for your concern and your services tonight. You may leave now."

Julian bowed low, collected the clothes that the prince had worn during the day, and headed to the doorway for the servants' corridor that was located on the back wall, partially obscured by the changing curtain. Paris sat still and listened, as he always did, for the sound of the door slamming. Usually he did this because he wanted to know when he was alone and free to be himself and not the beautiful and wordless Prince Paris. Tonight, however, he was going to prepare for Achilles' arrival.

He jumped to his feet and stopped short. _'What exactly am I going to do?'_ he wondered. Maybe he should create a seductive atmosphere to show Achilles that he wanted this as much as the Greek did. But how would he go about doing that? Certainly not by the way he was dressed – the sleeping robe was elegant and fine but not alluring in any way. None of his sleeping garments were anything even remotely like that. He could just greet him in the nude…no; he was barely bold enough to even _think_ that. His day clothing wasn't an option either since Julian had taken what he'd worn earlier and nothing in his closet seemed right for the occasion.

Paris worried the hem of his sleeve as he sunk down on the bed. The bed! Yes, he should turn down the covers and make it all inviting for Achilles. He could even lounge back on the pillows – _wantonly_. Paris shuddered as Lord Isidore's voice popped into his head, hissing that hated word.

'_Achilles is not Lord Isidore,'_ he scolded himself. _'He loves me, I love him, and this is an expression of that love. He said that my desire was beautiful. Would Lord Isidore ever say something like that? No, that man would do everything in his power to make me feel like I'm nothing. Achilles makes me feel like I'm everything.'_

Nonetheless the bed remained made. Paris sighed wearily, disappointed in himself for not being able to do such a simple task. When had he become so ashamed of any behavior even remotely relating to sex? Ah yes, after he turned twelve. That was when people started looking at him twice and whispering. Twelve was the age in which he became too big to jump into Hector's arms. Worst of all, it was the year when Isidore's hands first found their way to his thighs and his own father told him that his worth was limited to what his face and body could do for the kingdom. Twelve-year-old boys shouldn't have tohear that they are destined to become whores.

'_That's not going to happen anymore,'_ he exhaled, the darkness lifting as he thought of the Greek warrior again. His life was his own and he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it. _'The second Hector comes back I'm going to tell him everything – about Father, Lord Isidore, Achilles, _everything_. That way he'll understand why I'm leaving with Achilles, to live ina little hut near a beachthat's far away from the court and the city itself. I'll ask Achilles tonight. He'll feel better knowing that I've decided when I want to depart.'_

Paris was feeling better. Well enough, in fact, that he hardly jumped when he heard the knock on the door.

To be continued…

_A/N: A late update; but unavoidably so since has been in read-only mode for a couple of days. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates it!_

_I promise- slashy sex is on the way next chapter!_


	13. Love, rapture, and complications

_Warning: This chapter contains a slashy sex scene._

_A/N: There's been a lot of questions and speculation about the aforementioned sex and where it takes place in the context of the sequel "Family Secrets." This is **not** the scene described in that story. Although we're closer to the end than we are to the beginning there will be at **least** three more chapters to "Beauty and Misery" (most likely more, to set up the bridge between the two stories)._

Paris rushed to the door and threw it open, roughly pulling the rather startled Achilles inside. "Quickly!" he urged.

"I don't believe I can move fast enough to satisfy you," joked Achilles as he rolled a small vial in his hand before setting down on a nearby table. "Although I'd try just to keep you from yanking my arm off."

"This isn't funny!" admonished Paris as he closed the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. "The guard is never too far away from his post. If he heard you knocking and came back before you had the chance to come inside, you – you – I don't even want to think about what would happen to you."

Achilles felt a pang of guilt at his blasé attitude over something that was clearly very important to the boy. "I'm sorry," he said as contritely as he could manage. Admittedly that wasn't very much; he just didn't have enough practice at being remorseful. "But what can I do about it. It has to be loud enough so that you can hear and open the door for me. I can't imagine a much different fate being in store for me if the guard found me loitering outside."

"Don't knock," Paris told him firmly. "You're the only one who'd even bother to do so anyway. Even Hector didn't knock. Don't worry; I'll make sure that all the locks are undone before you get here.

The warrior planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. "What if I catch you at an awkward moment?" he murmured lovingly.

"I doubt there'll be anything that could be defined as an _'awkward moment'_ between us after tonight," answered Paris as he unconsciously licked his lips. "Besides, I can't imagine what I would be doing that I wouldn't want you to see."

Paris' faith in him brought tears to Achilles' eyes. He'd had many lovers, of course, but there had always been an unspoken distance between him and all of them. They all believed, on varying levels, the rumors of the brutish and animal-like Greek warrior and therefore never completely let their guards down in his presence, especially not in such a powerful way. "You trust me enough to give me open access to your bedchamber?"

"I trust you with my life," responded Paris. A playful smile danced across his face and he wrapped his arms around the Greek's neck. "However, if you're planning on sneaking in later to steal my jewelry I can save you the trouble by giving it to you now. I really don't like it all that much."

Achilles bent his neck and gave his lips a gentle and almost chaste kiss. "I would never do that," he vowed solemnly. "I'd steal all of your clothing instead."

Paris held Achilles' head close to his as if he was about to draw him into another kiss. He leaned in until their mouths were almost touching again and whispered, "That's just ridiculous. Nothing would fit you."

"I wasn't going to _wear_ any of it!" protested Achilles in mild horror. "I would take it so that whenever I came you'd be all naked –"

He stopped short when he felt Paris' frame shaking with laughter. "Is that what you look like when you're flustered?" the prince teased.

"I am never flustered," Achilles declared proudly. "I'll show _you_ flustered."

Another kiss, this time much deeper and more passionate wiped the smirk off the Trojan's face. He pressed himself as close as he could to Achilles, trying to convey all of what he felt into that one act. "Achilles? Will you kiss me like this every night?"

"More than just every night," promised Achilles, brushing his mouth against Paris' eyelids and enjoying the feel of the boy's ensuing sigh. "I will kiss you any way you want me to every night, every morning, and every moment in between those two points in time. All you have to do is say the word."

Paris pulled back a bit and steeled his resolve by looking into Achilles' startlingly blue eyes. "I am," he announced. "Saying that word, I mean. I want to leave with you. I want you to take me far away from the city, all the way to that little hut close to the beach where we can do all the things that you described and more."

It wasn't like Achilles hadn't expected this to happen at _some_ point; he just never dared to hope that it would come so soon. "Of course!" he cried, grabbing his lover into his arms and spinning him around. Paris laughed and that made it difficult for Achilles to kiss every inch of his face. Fortunately, his life as a warrior gave him the skills to overcome such adversity and triumph. "I'll go right now and make all the arrangements. My men can be ready to depart in one hour –"

"I didn't mean right now!" interrupted Paris. He cursed himself for raising this wonderful man's hopes like that only to dash them a moment later. "I want to go with you eventually, but I can't at this very moment. There is one last thing I have to do before any of this can happen."

"Can you do it while the Myrmidons are preparing for the voyage?" asked Achilles brightly.

"I'm afraid not," Paris told him. "I – I just can disappear without saying anything to Hector. He's my brother; I love him and he would be very hurt if I left without warning. Besides, it will be better for us in the long run. Once Hector knows how good you are to me he won't try to stop our departure. We could actually live our life together in peace."

Sweet, naïve Paris; if only things could be that simple for them. Still, Achilles had to respect his wishes. "Very well," he replied in an exaggerated sulk. Well, he didn't have to be _happy_ about it. "I guess I won't be getting ready to leave tonight. That leaves me with a lot of time on my hands tonight. Do you know how I can keep myself occupied?"

Paris ran his fingers down the opening of Achilles' shirt, feeling the frayed fabric as he deliberately dragged his knuckles against the skin beneath it from chest to navel. "We could move to the bed," he suggested, alluring and shy at the same time. "I'm very – excited – about the possibility of picking up from where we were interrupted last night."

"We have some work to do if we're to be starting from there," observed Achilles as he shrugged off his shirt and slid his waistcloth to the floor. "Though it is a shame to see that sleeping robe come off. It makes me think all sorts of … intoxicating thoughts."

"Why?" Paris blushed. "It's not – it's very – well, it – it covers _everything_."

Achilles was grinning as he tugged the garment's hem up to his lover's knees. "That's exactly why," he purred, slipping his hands beneath it and running them up his thighs. Paris moaned appreciatively at his ministrations. "Because even though it hides everything I know you're naked underneath."

He suddenly took his hands away. Paris let out a little cry of protest, but Achilles made quick work of undoing the robes clasps and pulling it from his body. "Most of all," the warrior continued, "I like it because I know it's going to look even better when it's off of you."

"I think we're ready to resume now," stated Paris, sliding his hands down the Greek's hard stomach and even lower.

"Not quite yet," admonished Achilles before dropping to his knees.

'_He's not….'_ But he was, right there in the middle of the room. Paris practically shrieked as Achilles' mouth surrounded him. It was even better than the night before; freed (for the most part) from his tenseness and confusion, the boy was able to give himself over fully to the wonderful, exhilarating sensations. He could barely keep his legs from buckling as his body peaked.

Gasping, Paris slowly returned to reality. His heart fluttered a bit at the feel of Achilles' broad hands on his hips, holding his upright. _'How could anyone call such an attentive and fantastic man a pillaging brute?'_ he wondered indignantly. The Greek was being much gentler than he was at the moment; his own hands were so tightly entwined in Achilles' hair that his knuckles were white. "I'm sorry," he panted out as he released him.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Achilles assured him. He rose to his feet, still holding onto Paris for fear that the prince hadn't quite regained his balance, and kissed him soundly.

There was a different taste on Achilles' tongue as it extended into Paris' mouth. It was himself, Paris realized; that was what he tasted like. Did everyone have the same flavor? Did Achilles? "I want to do that to you," he told the warrior with just the slightest hint of pleading in his tone. "I have to know what you taste like."

It took all of Achilles' will for him not to peak at the mere request. "I wouldn't say no to that," he managed to get out. "But let's go to the bed, just like last night." He took Paris' hand and together they walked the short distance to the boy's luxurious bed. "Are you sure you want to?" he asked one last time, sitting on the edge.

"More than anything," smiled Paris as he kneeled. "But I don't know exactly what to do."

"Do whatever comes naturally," Achilles urged him, touching Paris' lips and imagining where they'd be and what they'd be doing in a few seconds. "You remember what I did both last night and just now; just do something similar to those, but only what makes you comfortable. And" – his eyebrows quirked – "watch what you do with your teeth."

Paris flashed an amazingly joyful smile as he leaned forward and lowered his head. As he took him into his mouth, Achilles knew that he could never bear to be separated from his love again. No battle, no camaraderie, no other lover could ever make him feel the ecstasy that this Trojan was giving him now. Surely the erotic, playful boy wasn't the same prince who'd tried to hide behind his hair after being forced to show his pretty smile those few nights ago. Achilles now knew that it wasn't the misery that made him beautiful; Paris was beautiful simply because he was Paris.

"Stop," he groaned regretfully.

Paris complied immediately. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing," Achilles told him quickly. "Everything you're doing everything is really, _really _good, but I want to be with you – inside you. Are you ready for that?"

"I am," said Paris with only the slightest hitch in his voice.

That hesitation wasn't lost on Achilles. "We don't have to."

"I want to," replied the boy in a much stronger voice.

"Then I just need to get something." Achilles sprinted over to the small table and returned with the vial. "Onto the bed, my love," he coaxed, climbing on after Paris and positioning his pliant body.

"What's that?" asked Paris a bit nervously, gesturing to the vial.

Achilles opened it and poured some of the contents onto his fingers. "Oil," he explained. "It will ease our joining. Paris" – he sounded so serious that the boy was startled –"Paris, you must stay relaxed. This will hurt at first no matter what, but it will be all the more painful if you can't keep your body from tensing. Please just trust that I will make it better as soon as possible."

Paris nodded his consent wordlessly and the probing began. Fingers inside of him, touching where no one had ever touched before. There was some discomfort and pain, but then unexpected, exhilarating pleasure as they brushed a secret spot that he didn't even know existed.

Too soon the fingers were gone. They were replaced with something larger and the pain returned. But Achilles would slow down, stop, and even wait until he could endure it enough to continue even though such inaction clearly strained him. He did so because he cared more for his partner's pleasure than his own, Paris knew, and that thought helped him though the pain to the indescribable bliss as that spot was hit and stroked again and again. His fears of physical intimacy were put to rest once and for all as his body released and the gods took the stars out of the sky and placed them before his eyes.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles hurried as quickly and quietly as he could back to his bedchamber in the Greek quarters. He wanted to be back in bed with Paris, holding him close and perhaps repeating their lovemaking several more times before the dawn but it was too risky for the both of them. _'Soon we'll be together without the fear of getting caught,'_ he consoled himself. Paris swore that he would leave with his as soon as Hector returned. The elder prince would only be abroad long enough to negotiate an understanding with Menelaus;he could bereturningwithin in weak considering what a weak jellyfish of a man Agamemnon's brother was. Yes, Hector should be returning soon and then Paris would get his chance to say goodbye. Hector may not be thrilled about it, but neither Paris nor Achilles was seeking his permission, and the warrior was prepared to fight if necessary. He was prepared for anything.

Anything but having Odysseus sitting on his bed when he finally reached his chambers, that is. Achilles was in no mood to deal with this right now! "It's late," he said flatly. "I've had an incredibly wonderful evening so far and I'd prefer that you leave before you ruin it."

Odysseus raised his head and Achilles was stunned at the look of nausea on the man's face. "What is it?"

"Do you truly love Prince Paris?"

That was an unexpected question, and one that the warrior deeply resented. "Of course," he snapped fiercely. "Haven't I been telling you that for days?"

Odysseus wore an expression that told of an internal debate that had gone on far longer than the duration of this conversation. "I'll tell you," he decided aloud even as his face blanched. "You must remain calm as I tell you, Achilles. I had an eye-opening conversation with King Priam tonight after you departed."

To be continued…


	14. Painful secrets and revelations

Achilles could scarcely believe what he had just heard. Of course he understood that Odysseus was king and a politician with other loyalties and concerns besides their friendship, but he never imagined that the old fox would actually follow through on his threat to tell Priam about his relationship with Paris. "You betrayed me," he fumed.

Odysseus blinked as if trying to force his mind into the present. "I what?" he asked, sounding confused.

"You heard me! You actually believe that appeasing Priam is more important than being true to your supposed friends, or even just giving an unhappy boy a chance at happiness," Achilles snarled back. "You've betrayed my trust and put Paris in danger. How can you not understand this by now? _Priam knowing about our relationship puts my lover in danger_. I can't stay here; I have to go to him. I have to get him out of Troy!"

Before he could even take a step in the direction of the door Odysseus was on his feet and blocking the exit. "Wait," he pleaded, holding his hands out as if to show Achilles that he meant him no harm. "I don't think you understand what I'm trying to tell you."

The warrior had no intention of listening to his lies. "No, the problem is that I finally understand you all too well," he hissed venomously. "Nothing is more important to you than establishing this alliance with Troy. Do you have it now? Is Troy now Ithaca's sworn ally? You pathetic, foolish bastard; do you honestly believe that it means anything more than you being obligated to get involved with each and every conflict that Priam wants to engage in? Do you think that he cares at all what happens to you or your people? Well, you'll soon find out how quickly he sends his army to your aid when my Myrmidons have drenched the ground of Ithaca with blood!"

Odysseus' eyes widened as he sharply drew in a breath. "I didn't –"

"What about Paris?" continued Achilles, ignoring the king's words altogether. There was nothing that he could say that Achilles was interested in hearing at the moment. "Do you realize what his father threatened to do to him if we even so much as looked at each other in a way that his paranoid little mind deemed inappropriate? He's going to throw Paris to our men with the firm belief that they will rape him to death! Do you think he's going to stop there when that doesn't happen?"

"Oh dear gods, it really is true," whispered Odysseus, bowing his head as he fought to keep the bile down.

"No one will touch him as long as I live," vowed Achilles fiercely. "Myrmidon, Ithacian, Trojan – it doesn't matter. I'd kill them all before I let any one of them put him through that kind of ordeal. But what if Priam has me killed before he carries out his threat? My Myrmidons still wouldn't do such a thing. What about your men, Odysseus? Will you stop them from tearing Paris apart in the event that my guts become decorations for the gates of Troy?"

A nasty gleam came into Achilles' eyes as a thought came to him. "I finally understand," he continued. For the first time in his life he was so enraged that he literally couldn't move – which was fortunate for Odysseus because if he could have, he would have broken in neck in an instant. "I finally know why you've been acting the way you have ever since you realized that I was interested in him. You lust after Paris. You _want_ his father to toss him to the Greeks so that you can have your proper turn with him, don't you, you son of a bitch?"

This was too much for Odysseus' beleaguered mind to handle. In a split second his head snapped up and he punched Achilles in the face. The warrior staggered back, more out of shock than because he was actually hurt. "How dare you?" demanded an almost hysterical-sounding Odysseus. "I would never – I have a child of my own – not that – oh Athena!" At the broken cry to the goddess, Odysseus looked upward and struggled to steady himself. "I didn't tell King Priam anything," he yelled out in frustration and turmoil.

"What?"

"I didn't tell him anything about you and Paris," reiterated Odysseus. "I said that I had an eye-opening conversation with him, but it wasn't his eyes that were opened. It was mine. How could he even think about doing something like that? No father in the world would do something like that!"

Achilles looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "What is _wrong_ with you?" he demanded, confusion quickly taking the place of anger now that he knew that the secret of his and Paris' relationship was still intact. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"He is Prince Paris' _father_," stressed Odysseus as if that point was supposed to set the world back in order but failing miserably at the task. "A father is supposed to love his child more than anything else in the world. What kind of a life has the prince had with a father who would do such a thing? I could never do to Telemachus what King Priam plans to do to his son!"

"Do what to Paris?" cried Achilles in a panicked tone. Ithaca's king was always so calm and capable of thinking clearing even under the horribly stressful circumstances. What about Priam's plans for Paris drove him into this fit?

"You honestly don't know?" Odysseus asked him. "Prince Paris didn't tell you?"

"I've told you everything that Paris has ever told me about his father," Achilles told him. "Do you think I would have kept something capable of making you see the truth about Priam a secret?"

"He must not have wanted you or anyone else to know," commented Odysseus, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation. "Poor boy; what he must go through…"

Achilles couldn't handle any more of these maddening hints. "What did you and Priam talk about? Tell me, Odysseus – I have to know."

"I was just sitting there looking at Prince Paris' chair," Odysseus explained in a flow of words that teetered on the edge of rambling. "He saw. Priam saw and he asked me if I was thinking about the prince. I couldn't very well tell him that I was pondering the ramifications of you deflowering his youngest child, so instead I asked him why the prince wasn't being trained to be a soldier. He said that he had different plans for him. I asked if he wanted Prince Paris to become a priest, but he scoffed at that. He said – he said that the boy wasn't pure enough to enter into Apollo's service."

"That is a dishonorable lie!" fumed Achilles. "Paris is pure. I have no doubt in my mind that he had never lain with another before tonight. Even now he remains pure because we love each other. Who told the king otherwise? I'll rip his slandering tongue right out of his skull!"

If anything Odysseus looked even more pained. "I knows that the prince is – well, was – untouched." The king sounded utterly devastated. "He thinks – oh, but how could he? He told me that Prince Paris was destined to be a whore."

Achilles heard the words but, even with all of what he knew about Priam's true nature, he couldn't believe it. "That's not possible," he uttered, shaking his head. "No one is that blind. Not even Priam – by the gods, then why does he care so much about what I do with his son?"

"He said that Prince Paris was _going to become_ a palace prostitute," elaborated Odysseus. "That he'll be trained in the arts of pleasure when he turns eighteen. He must not want him to join with anyone before then – I suppose his purity will give King Priam a lot of leverage when it comes tomaking demandsduring alliance negotiations and other such situtations."

"Paris won't be here when he's eighteen," declared Achilles. "In fact, he won't be here when the sun rises tomorrow!"

"Achilles, wait," begged Odysseus. The warrior stunned him by actually pausing. "You can't just burst into the boy's chambers and drag him off against his will. How would that be any less terrifying than what King Priam is planning to do? Don't take away his choice in the matter."

Why had he stopped? He wasn't obligated to listen to Odysseus' half-informed advice, no matter how badly he felt about his earlier accusations. "It won't be against his will," Achilles explained impatiently. "He asked me tonight to take him away from Troy. This new information just pushes forward the date of our departure."

While the political side of him was relieved that the two didn't just vanish into the night, Odysseus was dumbfounded as to the reason why Paris would actually want to delay his flight from such an awful future. "Why in the world would he want to wait?" he asked.

"Hector. He wanted to have the chance to explain everything to Hector and give him a proper goodbye."

Suddenly Odysseus could breathe again. "Prince Hector!" he exhaled. "Of course, Achilles. Oh, thank the gods!"

"What are you babbling about now?" asked Achilles, baffled by the abrupt change in his demeanor.

"There's a chance that we can salvage all that we came here to do and still protect the prince," said Odysseus hurriedly. "Prince Hector is by all accounts a good and noble man. He's also the one who's actually in charge of Troy's army. It stands to reason, then, that if you do as Prince Paris requests and just wait until he can talk to his brother, Prince Hector will actually be able to do something about all this."

"Such as what?" questioned Achilles snidely.

"He could talk some sense into their father," replied Odysseus with the perfect mixture of resolve, hope, and desperation. "Prince Hector is King Priam's heir and second-in-command. He's in a better position to put a stop toit without starting a bloody war."

A hideous thought made Achilles' blood run cold. "It also puts him in the position to know about all of this already."

"No. No, no, _no_. You know that's not true," insisted the king.

"And how would I know something like that?" The petulance was back in Achilles' voice.

"He's a good man!" Odysseus cried, not caring how undignified he sounded. He'd gladly sacrifice his pride if it kept Achilles from taking off with Paris when a reasonable alternative was available. "Prince Paris obviously loves him. I'm sure he knows nothing about his father's plans. Prince Hector – "

"That would sound so much more convincing if you hadn't just spend the last few days trying to convince me that Priam really didn't mean Paris any harm," Achilles spat out in disgust.

"This is different," Odysseus argued stubbornly. "I just didn't want to see King Priam's attitude towards his son for what it really was. I admit that, Achilles. But there are no talks, no rumors, that Prince Hector is anything like that. I heard he even stopped Agamemnon from forcing himself on his brother."

"Paris told me about that," admitted Achilles begrudgingly.

Odysseus sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god or goddess was responsible for that. "Please think about this rationally: why would he do that if he thought that Paris was supposed to be a prostitute?"

"Perhaps because he didn't want to lose the inciting bargaining chip that Paris' virginity would be to someone who would take it without offering Troy anything in return! You said it yourself, Odysseus," Achilles exploded, working himself into a state the more he thought about it. "No, Hector is smart enough to know that he could demand almost anything if he could offer the opportunity to deflower the most beautiful person in the world as compensation."

"Achilles –"

"Don't," warned Achilles. "Just save your words and get out, Odysseus. We won't just disappear tonight, but I can no longer rely on the promises of kings and princes to keep my love safe. All I ask now is that you don't get in my way."

To be continued…


	15. Talk to him

A knock sounded on Achilles' door early the next morning but it wasn't the reason why he was awake. In truth, he never went to sleep at all that night; foregoing the rest to pacearound the chambers, planning his next move. First, he would order his men to get ready to leave as soon as possible. Then he was going to hunt down Priam and kill him in the most hideous way he could think of. Finally, he would collect Paris and flee that wretched city. Once they were safely in his homeland, Achilles was content to leave it at that. His young love could still believe anything he wanted about his brother – the warrior would let Hector be as long as he didn't try to come after them. If he did, he'd make sure that the elder prince met the same fate as his father.

Achilles was just pondering the positive and negative aspects of disemboweling someone when the knock rudely interrupted his train of thought. "Enter," he barked gruffly.

The door opened to reveal Patroclus. Achilles snorted with annoyance at the serious expression on the younger man's face. "Has it come down to this?" he wondered aloud.

"What are you talking about?" asked Patroclus, confused, as he closed the door behind him. "Is it wrong for me to visit you now?"

"It is when you come on the business of that old fox," Achilles told him. "He sent you to talk me out of what I have to do, didn't he, cousin?"

"Odysseus came to see me rather late last night," replied Patroclus. "He was in quite a state; told me everything about his conversations with both Priam and you. He asked me to, as he put it, _'talk some sense into that cousin of yours' stubborn skull_._'_"

"He's unbelievable," growled Achilles. "Well, if that's all you're here for you can save us both the trouble and leave now."

Patroclus simply crossed his arms and smiled. "I didn't say that's why I'm here," he smirked. "Odysseus _wanted_ me to somehow subdue you, but I'd rather hear what you're planning to do."

"It'svery simple, really," Achilles ticked off each part of his plan on his fingers. "Gather the Myrmidons, slaughter Priam, grab Paris, and sail off before the sun sets tonight. That means that all of us are going to have a busy day, so stop bothering me and get your things around. We're going to have to leave in a hurry."

The younger Greek ignored his cousin's abrupt dismissal. "What would you do without me?" he asked. "Besides get murdered by Trojan guards, be the target for an angry mob in the city, all while totally destroying Paris' trust in you, I mean."

"This isn't a joke!" said Achilles sharply.

"No, it isn't," agreed Patroclus. "I'm dead serious. Let's start with the big problems and work our way down, shall we? I don't suppose you plan on killing Priam in a quiet way, a way that won't make him scream and will result in them not discovering his body for hours?"

"He doesn't deserve a peaceful death!"

How Achilles hated it when Patroclus rolled his eyes! "So let me see if I understand your plan. The Myrmidons will be moving everything that they brought with them through the city, out the gates, and down to the beach in broad daylight," the younger man gestured out the window towards the shining sun. "While we're engaging in that rather large task, Priam will be screaming as you inflict as much pain as possible before killing him."

"Sounds good to me," asserted Achilles firmly.

"Does it?" demanded Patroclus with raised eyebrows. "Then perhaps you can tell me how you plan on fighting off every palace guard all by yourself since, as you would do well to remember, we're going to be at the beach. Oh, for the moment we'll just say that you did and move on. After you somehow get through that throng of vengeful guards and find Paris. From there, you're going to grab him with the same hands that are drenched in his father's blood and drag him – quite possibly against his will – through the army of Troy, that will be blocking the gates by that time, and to the ship. Do you really need me to point out all that is wrong with that plan?"

Achilles really resented Patroclus' logic at times. "He can't just stay here," he argued. "It won't be against his will – he wants to leave Troy, to come to our homeland. The only thing that's delaying our departure now is the fact that he wants to say goodbye to Hector first, but Hector surely knows about their father's plans. He'll stop Paris from leaving."

Patroclus held up his hand. "I'm not saying that he should stay here," he informed the warrior. "I happen to like Paris and I know he deserves more than a father like that and a future as a prostitute. I just think that you should _talk_ to him before you kill his father and this whole thing becomes a leave-now-or-die situation."

"He didn't tell me," Achilles said suddenly. That fact had been weighing heavily on his mind ever since his conversation with Odysseus the previous night. "I told him things that I've never told anyone in my adult life. He told me when Priam hit him, and about all of the threats. I thought he told me everything, but he never told me about this."

"Perhaps he was afraid that you would do something violent and rash," commented Patroclus ironically. Achilles' face screwed into a look of warning. "Maybe he was just ashamed. Or else for a number of reasons that he himself doesn't understand. I won't pretend to know what Paris' reasons were for keeping this a secret, but it's important that you understand them. That's why you need to talk to him."

Achilles sighed in resignation. "I will," he promised, sounding quite put out as the time of departure got pushed even further back.

"While you do that, I'll find Odysseus and tell him that you're sufficiently calmed down enough not to start any wars at the moment," smiled Patroclus.

"You're going to lie?"

"No; that's why I'll be sure to add that _'at the moment.'_"

He started to walk out the door but Achilles' call stopped him. "Patroclus? There is one think I would ask of you."

"Yes?"

"Get the Myrmidons ready to leave tonight," Achilles ordered, squaring his jaw. "Do it quickly and quietly, and carry this out unless you hear otherwise from me and me alone. Most importantly, make sure that neither Odysseus or his men suspect anything."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

The world looked different to Paris that morning as he walked through the corridors of the palace. The sun had never shone brighter, nor the air smelled so sweet. Most of all, he felt _happy_. Achilles made him feel beautiful and desirable in a way that didn't make him feel dirty. Now he even had a future he could look forward to.

His mood changed in an instant when someone grabbed him from behind, clamping a hand over his mouth that muffled his cries. Paris struggled against the hold as his assailant lifted his feet off of the ground and carried him to a secluded corner of the corridor. "Shh," hissed a voice in his ear as the arms loosened just enough to allow movement.

"Achilles?" gasped Paris, spinning around to face his lover.

"Are you all right, my love?" asked Achilles, his face etched with concern.

All right? Was he joking? "You scared me to death!"

"I am sorry for that," replied Achilles. "But I have to speak with you and it can't wait."

Paris stared incredulously at him. "What has gotten into you?"

Achilles thought about which way he should phrase his pressing question. Should he be gentle, tactful, sneaky, or just plain direct? Oh well; in such times a person needed to rely on what was tried and true. "What didn't you tell me that your father is planning on whoring you?" he demanded bluntly.

"What?" Paris asked faintly as all the color drained from his face.

"You heard me, Paris," Achilles told him, forcing his voice to be as gentle as possible so as not to frighten him. "Don't ask me to repeat it. I can't bear to say it again."

"How did you find out?" questioned the prince, his voice quivering with emotion.

"I had to hear about it from Odysseus. Priam told _him_ last night after we left the banquet."

Paris bowed his head so that Achilles wouldn't be able to see his tears. "Is he trying to lend out my body already?" he wondered bitterly.

"They were just talking," said Achilles. "No offers were made on either side, and that's not the point anyway."

"Exactly!" cried Paris desperately. Why did this have to come up? Every time he felt a little bit of joy, his father's plans always made themselves known and dashed it. "It doesn't matter anymore. We're going to leave here and I won't have to do – that. There's no point in discussing it now."

"Don't twist my words," Achilles told him darkly. "I just had to find out about all of this from _Odysseus_. It should have come from you; why didn't you tell me?"

"Why do you think?" Paris exploded as his body was racked with sobs. "My own father brings up whoring me in his casual conversations! I know what everyone thinks about me: that I have nothing to contribute to the world except a pretty face and whatever else they can get out of my body. But you, Achilles; you always looked at me like you're trying to see what's going on inside. You may be the only person to think that there even _is_ something inside of me. I didn't want to give you a reason to stop doing that."

Achilles was stricken by this confession. Did Paris really think that little of him to believe that he'd be capable of doing something so cold? "Paris –"

"I didn't want you to find out that I'm really nothing," Paris concluded in self-disgust.

So it wasn't that Paris thought so little of him; it was that he felt that way about _himself_. "Look at me, my love," Achilles urged, carefully forcing the boy's head up. His heart constricted at the expression on his face. "You are most definitely _not_ nothing. You are beautiful and kind, brave, desirable, and so full of love. By the gods, I'll kill your father for making you feel any other way."

"No!" begged Paris in alarm. "Please, Achilles, don't."

"He deserves nothing less," said Achilles fiercely as he took in the prince's tear-stained face further.

"If you do, you'll never make it out of Troy alive," insisted Paris fearfully. "Please, my love; I can't lose you…"

Achilles felt himself beginning to relent as he gathered him in his arms. "I won't, but only for your sake," he vowed reluctantly. "But you can't stay here any longer. Tell me you'll leave with me tonight."

Paris was torn. He didn't want to leave without seeing Hector – after being the only source of love in his life for so long, he at least owed his brother an explanation. However, he could feel the tension in Achilles' muscles and knew that it might be too much to ask him to control his temper around Priam until Hector returned. "I'll think about it," he finally stammered, hoping to delay the final decision as long as possible. "But right now, I really need to go. It's not safe for us to be talking like this."

"Wait." Achilles followed him out of the shadowy corner. "Can I come to you tonight after the banquet?"

That was one request Paris was happy to consent to. "I'd like that," he managed a little smile. He planted a chaste kiss on Achilles' mouth. "I must leave now; until tonight, my love."

With one last long glance, the prince walked away. Achilles watched until he was out of sight before turning in the opposite direction and marching off with a determined look on his face.

The only one who remained in the corridor was the figure hidden behind a statue. "Until tonight?" mused Lord Isidore. "How brazen of you, Paris."

To be continued…

_A/N: I just wanted to send a thank-you to everyone who's reading this story, especially to those of you who reviewed._


	16. When opportunity presents itself

Paris and Achilles didn't know that Lord Isidore had overheard them; even if they did, they probably wouldn't have counted themselves as lucky as they actually were. Luck and the gods, however, were on their side that day because he hadn't heard their entire conversation. The only thing that saved Paris from the lord's violent lust at the moment was the old man's ignorance and presumptions. If he'd have thought for a second that the boy was no longer untouched there would be no stopping him from ignoring the king's current restraints on the matter and simply taking Paris right there in the corridor.

Isidore had no way of knowing that the two had already made love nor would he have believed it unless he saw it with his own eyes. He'd spent over four years making sure that Paris would shy away from any touch and the stolen kisses he'd witnessed in the moonlight weren't enough to rob him of that belief. Besides, he assumed that Achilles would be incapable of any type of gentle display if he ever wormed his way into the prince's bed. Lord Isidore, having seen many a young man's walking hindered by the pain that only a vicious joining could inflict, sustained that he would know if the boy had relinquished _his _prize to Achilles.

No, the lord's thoughts at the moment were on the intolerable situation that he'd found himself in. Lord Isidore could put up with no more of this! First he had to stand idly by as that Greek brute bullied and threatened Priam into letting him spend time alone with Paris. If he could only go back and convince the king to execute Achilles then and there for such a bold demand! Then he had to endure their sickening display of affection in the garden. By Apollo, he'd even held his tongue when his brilliant plan to eliminate the bane of his existence was foiled, tolerated both the prince's smug behavior _and_ the humiliation of losing his seat of honor at the banquets to an uncouth savage. The encounter in the hallway – and what would come after it – was going too far. Isidore simply could not let Paris give up his virginity to Achilles; not after _he'd_ spent so many years craving it!

He needed a new plan and he needed to be sure that it would work. This time he would not rely on worthless pawns and the people of Troy figuring out what he wanted them to figure out. Isidore smirked in spite of his dark mood. He hadn't heard most of the hushed conversation but Paris had said enough to sow the seeds of a foolproof plan. Achilles was actually going to sneak into the boy's bedchamber that night. They obviously held some hope for him getting past the guard that was always posted outside the room at night. Once he made it past, the Greek certainly intended on deflowering the youngest prince of Troy…in his father's house…against his father's wishes…against all the sacred rules and etiquette of being a proper guest.

It was plain to see what had to happen in order to ensure that Paris remained untouched until Isidore had the chance to do so: Achilles needed to be caught entering the chambers. It would have to be by a guard of some sort or else the circumstances might be too suspicious and accusations may be made of a set-up. Well, the guard usually posted was pretty much worthless as far as the lord was concerned. In fact, he was convinced that the pathetic fool had been letting Hector slip in for years (though he could never see the visits as so much of a threat that he cared to put forth the effort to stop them). No, it had to be someone completely trustworthy…

Of course! He almost laughed out loud as the answer came to him. His own personal guards, Titus and Philo, would be perfect for the task. They were loyal to him first and foremost and had been in his confidence for many years. They would be the only ones who could fully appreciate the situation, as he had made sure that they were well aquatinted with the knowledge of what Paris was born to be. Yes, he knew that he could trust them – especially when he provided them with an appropriate award for their services.

Thankfully they weren't very hard to find. Lord Isidore had to chuckle when he spotted them bidding farewell to a limping prostitute. How could he not appreciate the fact that he'd surrounded himself with men who had the same preferences for inflicting pain and suffering? They heard him and ceased their ogling and taunting chants to attend to their duties. "How may we serve you, my lord?" asked Philo.

"Come with me and I will tell you." Isidore gestured for them to follow him down the corridor and into a small, empty room. Closing the door behind them, he continued, "I am being insulted and dishonored at this very moment."

"What's happening?" demanded Titus, his eyes wide with outrage and fury while his comrade unconsciously gripped the hilt of his sword.

"A Greek is planning on robbing from me what I have long considered mine."

"Not surprising, considering what king of people that lot are," sneered Philo as the guards exchanged a knowing, disgusted look. "Still, it's a tremendous act of stupidity even for one of them. Who would dare do such a thing?"

"Achilles, of course," replied Isidore pompously. "And he seeks out even now the most glorious prize of all, one that is promised to me: Prince Paris' virginity."

Philo did a double take at the news. "That's bold, even for someone with his reputation," he marveled. "Will he be trying to take it by force or is the prince eager to start pleasuring every man in sight?"

"It does not matter how he plans on doing this," Isidore told him sharply. "All that is important now is that he thinks he has found a way to slip past the guard unnoticed. What I need for you two to do is to be there when he tries. Shout loud enough for people to hear that Achilles is trying to assault the prince in the royal chamber and then kill him. After that even the Greeks will have to admit that you had no choice in the matter if his body is plain to see on the prince's doorstep."

"Why are we waiting?" wondered Titus. "We could just kill him now, dump the corpse outside the prince bedchamber, and _then_ do all the shouting that you're talking about."

Isidore glowered at them, reminding himself that he was trusting them with this task because of their loyalty, not their intelligence. "Because now it is almost certain that he's surrounded by his men and other, more reliable witnesses while tonight he'll be alone," he explained through gritted teeth. "And it will be all the more damning if Paris is actually in his chambers – in bed – when the row takes place and the body is found. Besides all that, how do you expect to move him from one end of the palace to the other without anyone seeing you?"

At least they had the decency to look chagrined. "Do this correctly and your reward will be something you'd never hope to receive otherwise," he continued.

"I like the sound of that," Philo stated with a lecherous grin.

"As you should very well know, Paris is meant to service men of importance – Trojan nobles, foreign dignitaries, and the like," said Isidore, getting excited just thinking about it. "However, if you kill Achilles tonight before he has the chance to join with the prince, I'll make sure that you two have your fun with him as well. If you manage to do so without arousing any suspicion, you'll be next in line after me and before everyone else. You two have the opportunity to be the only guards to experience all the pleasure you can get from a royal (weak though his bloodlines actually are) body."

His expression suddenly turned sinister and the guards cringed. "I must warn you, though, against trying to move ahead of me in that line. Should you even try to deflower the prince after killing Achilles, I will exact a revenge so terrible that you two will _beg_ for the release of Tartarus by the end."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles stopped in his tracks at the sight before him in the corridor: one of his Myrmidons was conversing with a palace prostitute, his body turned to that the other person was practically forced up against the wall. Normally he was inclined to let his men enjoy whatever willing company was available to them, but now he looked at that green-eyed young man and thought of Paris. His beloved didn't want anything to do with this life and would have been forced into it anyway – did that prostitute have any more choice in the matter? He watched him wince as his hind end came into contact with the hard surface of the wall and knew that he couldn't stomach this any longer.

"Jason," Achilles called, a bit more sharply than he intended. "What do you think you're doing?"

"My lord?" asked Jason hesitantly. Achilles was known for his dramatic mood swings and judging by his tone any wrong response would trigger a very bad one. "I was just seeking some company. We have no duties to attend to today –"

"Do you really think so?" interrupted Achilles snottily. "I can see, then, that you haven't checked in with the men since your evening of doing the-gods-know-what with some poor creature. I left Patroclus with some rather pressing orders for everyone and I suggest you find him right now."

"Yes sir," answered Jason promptly for before taking off.

Achilles took a deep breath and turned slowly to the green-eyed prostitute, who hadn't moved from him somewhat painful position. The boy's frightened but resolute gaze was on him. "Is there anything you wish for me to do for you, my Lord Achilles?" he asked, his voice for the most part concealing his emotions.

"No; you may leave now."

The prostitute nodded and took two steps. On the third his legs finally gave out and he crumpled awkwardly to the ground, giving Achilles a sickening view of the blood stand that soiled the fabric covering his backside. "By the gods!" gasped the Greek, notfully comprehending how badly he was hurt until then. He immediately knelt down beside him, allowing the young man to grip his arms in order to keep from applying any more weight to his injury. "Who did this to you?"

"A lot of people do this to me and my friends all the time," he answered, frustrated that his body couldn't have waited until he got back to the prostitutes' quarters before collapsing. "I apologize for my lack of decorum. Please do not concern yourself with it any longer."

"Now you listen to me – " Achilles paused, realizing that he didn't know what to call him. "What's your name, boy?"

"They call me Green because of, well, you can see why."

"But what's your _given_ name?"

Green let out a mirthless laugh at the ridiculous nature of the whole situation. What did this intimidating Greek warrior want with him? "That's ceased to be important, my lord."

That answer chilled Achilles to his bones. What if Clytemnestra had waited another five years to kill Agamemnon? He shuddered to think that he might have been having this conversation with Paris under those circumstances. "That's not true," he told both Green and that disturbing phantom of what his lover could have been. "No one has the right to strip you of your name or abuse you in such a manner!"

"Green!" Achilles looked up to see another prostitute hurrying over to practically throw himself between him and the young man. The Greek couldn't help but admire his courage. "My lord, I apologize if he's dissatisfied you in any way. I will be happy to render any services on his behalf to remedy the situation."

"I was with Lord Isidore last night," Green blurted out against his own common sense. "He did this to me, my lord; I had to go with him last night."

The newcomer spun around, horrified. "Green, don't say another word!" he ordered desperately.

"No, it's all right," Achilles told him, feeling himself becoming a little more frantic every second that this information – information that may be vital to Paris' safety – was blocked. He knew he couldn't let it show, though, if he wanted to get some answers quickly from these closed-off young men. "What is your name?"

"Hook," the newcomer responded, self-consciously touching the tip of his hooked nose.

"Well, Hook, I asked him to tell me who did this for him," he explained. "I need to know what happened. Please, why did he hurt you, Green?"

"No reason," replied Green wearily. "He just likes doing it. It's very – _difficult_ – to be on the receiving end of his lust."

"Isidore lusts after Paris," Achilles murmured to himself.

"Prince Paris?" asked Hook incredulously. "Why do you speak of him in such a familiar manner? And why do you care what the lord feels about him?"

Achilles was startled by the question, not realizing that he'd spoken aloud until then. Oh, well; it didn't matter since he had no intention of answering it. There was no time! "So I'm not wrong in my assessment of Isidore's desires?" he shot back.

Hook's face turned ashen as he remembered what happened a few days ago. Lord Isidore had decided that he needed a refresher course in the arts of pleasure – meaning, of course, that he was in the mood to be especially rough while intimidating the other prostitutes at the same time. He'd just been leading him to the bedchamber reserved for such a lesson when Prince Paris had run past them, crying. King Priam had followed a few seconds later and spoke with the lord. Even with his knowledge of the true nature of a fair portion of Troy's nobility, Hook had still been shocked to hear the king give Lord Isidore permission to rape his son.

That had excited the lecherous old man so much that the ensuing "lesson" had been the most painful joining he'd ever experienced. Afterwards, though, Hook found that felt moresorry for the prince than for himself. Prince Paris wasn't a prostitute like he was; he wasn't used to the abuse that a malicious man like Lord Isidore enjoyed inflicting. In fact, Hook knew that he hadn't been with any of the prostitutes and seriously doubted if he'd ever had sex with anyone else. He remembered his own first painful lesson and was certain that whatever was in store for Prince Paris would be even worse. "You're not wrong," he confirmed to Achilles. "The poor prince."

"So you've been on the receiving end of his lust as well," demanded Achilles.

The prostitutes exchanged a glance that spoke volumes about their suffering. "We all have," Green told him. "Lord Isidore is always the first to have sex with a new prostitute. He says it's his duty to train us."

Hook observed the look that spread across the Greek's face and suddenly understood. Oh, he didn't quite know everything, but he could see that Achilles wanted to protect Troy's youngest prince. This was an unheard of opportunity; one that would allow him to repay this lord who spoke to him and his friend like they were people with feelings, to help the prince who'd never harmed them in any way, and to exact a punishment on the old man that haunted his nightmares. He couldn't stop Lord Isidore from hurting the prostitutes, but he could certainly deny him of this one thing he so clearly craved.

"I can't explain it here," Hook said in a low voice, leaning over so that only Achilles could hear him, "but Lord Isidore is a major threat to the prince. The only way Prince Paris will be safe is if he gets as far away as he can from the city."

To be continued…

_A/N: Happy holiday season to everyone!_


	17. Plans in motion

_A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is late in coming. My visit to my parents' house was extended by a day so that I could get my car fixed; and then my niece came home with me to spend the night and most of the day. I'll be back on schedule next week._

Achilles felt eyes on him for the entire banquet that evening and he knew right where they were coming from: two guards milling about the table. This was nothing new; more than a few of the Trojan nobles and their guardsglared at him nightly, offended that a mere Greek was sitting in a place of honor next to the royal family. These guards, however, seemed especially adamant about keeping an eye on him. If he didn't have more pressing matters on his mind he might paid more attention to them, tried to figure out what they were thinking about. At that moment he was only willing to spare then a cursory glance, deemingby their dull expressions that very little had ever been on either of their minds.

Almost all of Achilles' focus was on Paris, seated next to him. He'd been distant and preoccupied all evening. While they could never talk at mealtimes, they'd taken up the habit of touching knees or rubbing their feet together under the table for just a second. These were acts of support and love for each other and a way they could silently and safely defy Priam's control, but his love would have none of it that night. Instead he studied his goblet and utensils as if they had the secrets of the gods and the Oracle of Delphi etched into their surfaces. He was torn, Achilles knew; the prince desperately wanted to figure out a way in which a detailed goodbye to his brother and a safe retreat to Achilles' homeland would be possible. All that the warrior could do to help him was encourage Paris, in the most support, gentle and yet urgent way he could, to make the smart decision.

Before that could happen, though, they would have to overcome a more immediate problem. Achilles had been so set on the idea of getting out of Troy that he never thought through the details about how that was exactly supposed to happen. Now he didn't even know how either of them was going to leave the banquet hall without arousing suspicion in both Priam and his paranoid mind, and Isidore and his constant watching. The Trojan king seemed determined to keep Paris in attendance to make up for his premature departure the night before and the boy could not plead ill again without being escorted at once to a healer. Even if he did manage to convince his father to let him leave, there was no plausible explanation available for Achilles to use for his own departure immediately afterwards. Achilles refused to even consider not directly following Paris out of the room,knowing that it was no longer safe to leave him alone. Perhaps they could slip away now that the feast was ending that the prostitutes were filtering into the hall…

The table shook as an inebriated body slammed into it, spilling several goblets of wine. "Sorry about that," slurred the drunk. Achilles just barley managed to contain his growl of annoyance, disapproval, and rage when he recognized that it was one of his own Myrmidons: Jason, whom he had to reprimand only earlier that day for trying to cavort with a prostitute instead of receiving his orders.

"Hello there, Prince Paris," Jason continued cheerfully, apparently unaware of all the glares he was receiving. "You don't look like you're having fun. You never look like you're having fun. You're young and rich and all that; you _should _be having fun. Come on, let's dance and then you'll have fun."

Paris shrank back from Jason's outstretched hand as Priam sprang to his feet. "This is an outrage!" he fumed. "Guards! This is an insult to the entire city of Troy! _Guards!_ Paris, leave here at once! **_Guards!_**"

"Hey, there's no need for that," hiccuped Jason as Paris scurried out the door. The Myrmidon stumbled a bit and Achilles rose to his feet, grabbing his to keep him from falling flat on his face (even if he did deserve to). "We weren't going to do anything. I know the difference between a pros-pros- a whore and a prince. I was going to do anything but dance with him."

"Jason," Achilles hissed. "If you utter another word, I'll break your neck."

Priam's face was a rather distinctive shade of purple. "How dare you let your men insult me in such a manner?" he demanded. "How could any leader allow such behavior amongst his people? I order you to make that – that inebriated idiot the respect I deserve."

_The respect he deserved?_ Achilles used up a lifetime of self-restraint as he resisted the urge to spit in the king's face. "I have no control over this situation; he's _drunk_."

Priam was anything but appeased. "Get him out of my sight, now!"

"Thank you so much for the novel suggestion," muttered Achilles sarcastically, hoisting his man's arm around his shoulder in the hopes that it would be enough to support him and his wobbly knees. He was half-tempted to just leave him there, but that was out of the question.There would be no way of retrieving him before the ship had to set sail and that the life of any Myrmidon left behind was bound to be made unpleasant. Oh, of all the nights the young man had to make an ass of himself!

Getting Jason out of the hall turned out to be a much larger chore than the warrior first thought. He stumbled at every step, occasionally knocking his body against that of his commander, and was so off-balance that Achilles practically had to carry him. It took them several minutes to even get through the doorway, and by the time they were in the corridor with the doors slammed behind them Achilles was in a very foul mood. "You ignorant, selfish jackass," he growled. "I have more important matters to attend to than dragging you back to the quarters! And you have a job to take care of! Don't you realize what's supposed to happen tonight?"

"Of course I do," replied Jason, the drunkenness gone from his voice. He moved away from Achilles to stand on his own sturdy legs. "In fact, I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing right now."

"What?" Achilles managed to ask, completely baffled.

"Patroclus told me to ask you what you'd do without him," Jason told him with a knowing glint in his eyes. "He was in the midst of devising escape plans when I arrived to get my orders earlier. He figured you'd hadn't had the chance to give it much thought."

Achilles let out a breath as understanding relaxed his tensed muscles. "Patroclus," he commented. "How far did he get with his planning?"

"All the way to the Aegean Sea," Jason informed him. "I'm to go to the ship right now to begin the preparations. The others will continue to leave either alone or in groups no more than four as the festivities continue. That way their absences won't be noticed right away and we'll all have a better chance at sneaking past any guards posted at the city gate."

Achilles shook his head in amazement and gratitude. "Leave it to Patroclus," he said with a wry smile.

"Oh," said Jason. "He also wanted me to advise you not to force Prince Paris into anything. Give him as much time as we can spare to make this decision on his own." A grave expression crossed his face as Achilles gave him an assessing look. "Your cousin informed the Myrmidons of Paris' predicament; _we_ know the difference between a prostitute and a prince and it's obvious that your love is the latter."

"And to think I was so close to snapping your neck," marveled Achilles with no malice.

"We'll be ready to depart within two hours," the young Greek told him. "That should give you enough time to convince him once and for all to leave now. The ship will be ready by the time he's prepared to do so."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Lord Isidore observed Achilles struggle with his inebriated Myrmidon with a great sense of satisfied amusement. Abdominal, lowly creatures, those Greeks, to think that such behavior was appropriate in that regal setting. Honestly, no Trojan would get drunk in public, brazenly ask amember ofa royal familyto dance (if that word could be used to describe the Greeks' clumsy movements), or generally make an idiot of himself in front of a superior sort of people. He found an undisturbed goblet and took a sip of wine, smug in the knowledge that _he_ could hold his alcohol.

Titus and Philo made their way over to him, vibrating with excitement and anticipation, and Achilles finally dragged the worthless young man out of the doors. "He's leaving, my lord," noted Titus. "He's closing the doors."

"Yes, I can see that," he replied in exasperation. Honestly, he was amazed with how well he was able to tolerate the guards' inadequate levels of intelligence. Thank Apollo they were smart enough at least to be easily trained to follow his commands down to the last detail.

"Should we follow him?"

"Of course we should," snapped Philo. "We won't get a crack at the prince by just standing in here."

By the gods, enough with this inane babbling! "Go," ordered Isidore, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "But be careful. Achilles will have to deposit that fool in the Greek quarters before he can go to Paris' bedchamber. Do not let him see you; I fear you'll need the element of surprise to succeed in killing him. I warn you: _do not_ mess this up; if you do, not only will you not, as you put it, _'get a crack at the prince'_ but I'll also see to it that any similar satisfaction will be _physically impossible_ for you to achieve."

"Yes sir," said Philo as he and his comrade marched towards the doorway.

Isidore turned away from them, irked, before they were even two steps away from him, choosing to look over the crowd. More would have to happen before his plan could succeed. First of all, he would place himself and his guards beyond suspicion. One way he could achieve that was to engage in normal activities that could easily put them in relative proximity to the royal chambers. What he needed was a prostitute. No one would be able to prove his involvement if it was plan to see that he was busy with other matters. By taking said prostitute to one of the unoccupied bedchambers close to the royal quarters, Isidore could also provide his guards with a plausible explanation as to why they were able to catch Achilles in time.

Soon the pathway to Paris would once again be cleared of any and all annoying obstacles. Just the very thought of having unrestricted access to the prince's bedchamber excited him. Yet another reason why the services of a prostitute would be helpful; Lord Isidore thoroughly disliked being aroused without someone there to provide him with the proper release. He scanned the crowd to find the perfect one to celebrate such a momentous occasion. True, none of them could compare with Paris, but he could make due. In fact, now that he was secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't have to make due for much longer, he was eager to give one of those little toys a night he'd never forget.

The only prostitute that escaped his scrutiny that night was the young man with a hooked nose that had stopped Titus and Philo just before they made it to the doors.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

It seemed a bit odd to him, but Hook actually had to refrain from humming a victory tune as he hurried to intercept the guards before they left the room. Perhaps it wasn't so strange after all; now he could truly see that, for all the power that Lord Isidore and his two minions wielded over the prostitutes, he still had the ability to destroy their schemes. Funny, he'd spent so many years fearing them that realizing now how easily he could read – and therefore manipulate – them was almost a liberating experience.

_Anyone_ could see that Titus and Philo were watching the Lord Achilles; those morons couldn't have been more conspicuous if they tried. Something was going to happen tonight, something very important. Apparently Lord Isidore suspected the Greek warrior was up to something, thus setting his henchmen on his trail. Was Lord Achilles actually going to try to take the prince away from Troy? Well, that was good news as far as Hook was concerned. The Greek at least acted like he cared about his well being, and the young prostitute couldn't imagine the prince finding himself in a worse situation than the one he'd soon be in if he remained in the palace. Best of all, it would drive the lecherous lord to distraction if he were to be outwitted by a Greek of all people.

Now Hook had the opportunity to help that happen and he was going to take it. "Pardon me, sirs," he said in his most proper voice as he ran up alongside them.

Titus and Philo looked stunned as they stopped and Hook couldn't fault them for that. None of the prostitutes had _ever_ approached them like that before, as all of them were aware of their brutal nature in bed and lower social status. Some of the more ambitious ones, the young men who had resigned themselves to their miserable lives but not contentto just survive, might seek out a violent noble if they believed they could gain anything by it, but never anyone beneath that lordly status. Not one of them would seek to subject themselves to the abuse of some guard. "What – what is it?" asked Titus, staring at him as if he was an apparition.

"I would be most…honored if you permitted me to pleasure you tonight," he propositioned, getting on his hands and knees before them to kiss their feet. Such a gesture of submission usually only took place when a prostitute made an offer to a noble, as a way of reestablishing proper authority. It was the perfect way to ensnare these guards even further.

Philo indeed was slack-jawed with amazement as he watched Hook kiss both of Titus' feet before crawling over to kiss his. "Which one of us do you mean?" he wondered aloud, not believing that they could be _that_ fortunate.

'_Apollo, give me strength.'_ "I wish to please both of you."

Titus looked strained. "The lord told us to follow the Greek," he said to his comrade, gesturing half-heartedly to the doors.

Philo ignored him in favor of asking Hook, "And by that, do you mean…" 

"In whatever order and manner you want," replied Hook, forcing the bile down. "I will do everything you desire."

"He _told_ us," Titus reiterated, trying to convince himself as well as his colleague and not doing a very good job of it. Instead of continuing on, he pulled Hook off the floor and started running his hands all over his body.

"Are you incapable of having an original thought?" purred Philo as he stuck his hands beneaththe young prostitute'sgarment. "We won't have the chance to do this later. Come, my friend; you saw how long it took for him to get that drunk out the doors. It will take him even longer to get him all the way to their quarters. There's more than enough time."

Hook let out a feigned gasp of pleasure. "Please allow me to do this for you, most valiant sirs," he pretended to whimper. He saw the resistance wavering in Titus' face and went in for the kill. "I beg of you to take me somewhere where no one can hear me scream."

Oh, Hook knew what was about to happen. The very idea of being with the two of them made his stomach churn, but it was worth it. For once a prostitute would get the upper hand over Lord Isidore and that would be a thought he would forever relish, even if the lord would never discover what part he played in it. That victory tune rang clear in his mind as the doors of the banquet hall closed behind him and the lusty guards led him away.

To be continued…


	18. The last straw

After careful determination, Julian decided that Prince Paris was still not back to normal. The nervous energy was gone, but it had been replaced by a quiet anxiousness that gave him the aura of being moresad than usualand perhaps even a little scared of something. The boy could understand why he was afraid – the guard had whispered to him to be especially obedient that night because some Greek had frightened him by trying to make him dance. In Julian's impressionable mind all Greeks appeared to be big, strong, and strange; sometimes even speaking in some languages that came across as gibberish in his ears. They were uncouth creatures, monsters of fireside stories, and definitely unfit to speak to his kindly and beautiful master.

"There," he said, smoothing out a wrinkle in the shoulder of the prince's sleeping robe, frowning at how tense he felt. "My lord…." His voice faltered, intimidated momentarily by his own boldness and the guard's warning. Concern for Prince Paris won out and he steeled himself in order to comfort him. "He shouldn't have done those things."

"What?" Paris turned his head, alarmed, to look at his young servant. Who was he talking about? How much did he know or guess?

"That Greek, the one who was going to make you dance with him," elaborated Julian earnestly. "He didn't have the right to upset you so much. Oh, I don't know why you have to spend all that time around those Greeks anyway. You're so nice and pretty that you deserve to be surrounded with only nice people." His eyelids fluttered a bit and he blushed. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't speak so freely with you…"

Paris smiled wistfully at Julian's innocence and, remembering how abruptly he was robbed of his own, realized that he didn't have the heart to tell him that there was no place in the world that only had kind people in it. "I always welcome comfort and kindness, no matter who they come from," he said softly, rising to his feet and surprising the servant by kissing his brow. "Thank you for your words and for the assistance you give me this and every other night. I won't be needing you for anything else this evening, so I bid you good night."

Julian bowed, speechless and flustered, and turned to leave only to pause at the sound of Paris' voice. "Wait!" the prince cried, picking up a wooden goat off the floor. "I believe you dropped this."

"Oh, thank you sire," said Julian, taking the toy and placing it in his pocket. "I would hate to lose him – my father carved him for me and all – but the pockets in the garment have holes and I can't carry him around out in the open. Some of the older children will try to take him from me."

"That is a treasure worth all the gold in Troy if it's a gift from your father," replied Paris, feeling a bit envious and wishing he had such a kind father. King Priam had never given him anything so thoughtful and intended only for his enjoyment. "Don't lose it! Good night."

"Good night."

As always, Paris waited to hear the servants' door slam shut before rising to his feet. He then made his way over to the main door, unlocking it to ensure the ease of Achilles' entrance, and walked to the window. There was none of the nervous preparations that he'd made the previous evening, for too much was running through his mind and he found he could do no more than stare out over the beach and water. The very same beach and water that Achilles wanted him to cross that night, to leave Troy and never return.

Oh, what should he do? All of the agonizing in the world was not helping him reach an acceptable decision. It broke his heart to consider leaving without seeing Hector, without whom he probably wouldn't have known enough about love to return the Greek warrior's feelings. But Hector might not be able to come back for weeks, even months; how long could he expect Achilles to delay forming an alliance in order to stay until then? Even if such a delay was possible, Paris knew that his lover might not be able to control his temper for that long. What if he snapped and did something that would doom him to execution before his brother returned? Paris closed his eyes momentarily; he didn't want to think about all of this! It was so overwhelming, so devastating. All he wanted to do that the moment was be with Achilles.

The door opened but Paris didn't turn around; instead listening and recognizing Achilles by the way he breathed. He continued to stare out the window as the warrior walked over to him and molded the front part of his body against his back, slipping his arms around Paris' waist in a protective embrace. The prince arched against him – an easy task, considering how close their bodies were – and pressed his hind end into Achilles' groin. He sighed almost inaudibly as his anxiety started to melt away. Everything made more sense when he was in Achilles' arms and even more when Achilles was in him.

Achilles felt Paris press himself even closer and smiled. "I missed you," he murmured, lifting the hem of the sleeping garment and slipping his hands underneath. A part of his mind was quick to point out that it was the wrong time to bed his lover, but he silently argued back that it was also the _right_ time. Paris needed comfort and assurance that he loved him; rejecting him in such a vulnerable moment might damage all the confidence he'd managed to build up. Plus, after so many years of fearing physical contact every time it happened between them Paris became a little more bold – he'd asked to be tongue-kissed, invited Achilles to his room, and asked to leave with him. This could give him the nerve to leave that evening in a way that talking couldn't. As Paris gasped with rapture, Achilles also admitted to himself that, after a day of revelations and anxious concern, he too needed to be with his lover right then (and wouldn't have turned him down even if he hadn't).

Paris was now moaning appreciatively. "Do you like this?" teased Achilles in a purr, pressing his open mouth against his throat and running his tongue over the hot, delicious skin.

"Yes," Paris breathed out, thrusting in to Achilles hand and he got closer to his release. "Oh, Apollo! Yes, there! Please!"

The last word came out as a keening cry and Achilles sped his movements, intent on nothing at the moment but bringing his lover to his climax. He fought the urge to lift his own waistcloth and take him there; Paris wasn't ready for that quite yet. Perhaps after they reached his homeland, when they had the time and privacy to start to experiment, would they be able to become more adventurous. "You're close," he stated, breathing a lot of air into Paris' ear and enjoying the feel of his excited shivers. "Let me hear your release."

The prince complied wonderfully, crying out as pleasure swept over him before slumping bonelessly against Achilles, breathing deeply. Achilles pressed a kiss into his temple as he pulled his hands up to the clasp of the sleeping garment that was set about his throat. "Your garment is dirty," he declared playfully. Paris cocked an eyebrow. "You shouldn't wear such a sticky garment to bed."

The clasp gave way and the robe fell easily down his body, pooling around his feet. Paris turned immediately and gave Achilles a deep, passionate kiss, marveling at how right everything felt. He didn't feel exposed, vulnerable, or ashamed of his actions; because of Achilles' love and encouragement he felt cherished, desirable, and protected. Achilles shifted against him and his hardness came into contact with Paris' body, making the boy realize that he also felt a little proud at how the much more experienced warrior responded to him. How could he risk losing that?

Achilles captured Paris' upper lip, holding it between his own before ending the kiss completely. "Do you remember what I taught you?" he asked, caressing his cheek.

"Yes," Paris nodded, biting his lips as his eyes darted down Achilles' body.

"Show me," Achilles encouraged, taking Paris' hand and leading him to the bed. He started to remove his clothing, but then remembered his little fantasy from a few moments earlier. His lover was a little more comfortable with himself and the situation at hand; it would probably be all right to indulge a little if he altered the scenario correctly. He sat down on the edge of the bed fully clothed and adjusted his waistcloth to give Paris easy access before handing him a pillow and pulling him as close as the upcoming activity would allow.

Taking it and kneeling before him, Paris was suddenly nervous. He'd only done this once before – what if he forgot something important? What if he didn't satisfy Achilles? He was secure enough in the Greek's love that he didn't fear being rejected, but it would still be embarrassing. Oh, Apollo, what if he ended up hurting him?

The warrior sensed his apprehension and reached out, cupping his cheek in one large palm and using his other hand to entwine his fingers in Paris' curly hair. "Just like I taught you," he whispered in a soothing tone. The prince immediately felt better and forced himself to bury his remaining worries. "And remember that I love you no matter what."

Paris nodded again as the Greek withdrew his hands. Taking a deep breath, he licked his lips and brought his mouth down upon Achilles, doing anything and everything he recalled from the lesson that took place the previous evening and the other times his lover had done this to him. He believed he was doing everything correctly and Achilles' responses certainly reinforced that notion. "Oh, yes Paris – there! Use – use your tongue – like that! Ooohhh, but the gods you're a good pupil!"

As good as it felt, though, Achilles grabbed Paris' shoulders before he lost control and climaxed. Paris looked him in the eye and they both knew that they were desperate to join together – very, _very_ soon. "Do you have the oil I gave you?" panted Achilles.

Throwing him a look that clearly stated, _'And where else would you think it would be?'_, Paris got up and walked over to a bureau that was positioned by the head of the bed. "It's right here," he declared, producing the vial from the top drawer and holding it out.

Achilles was almost as pleased at the sight of the oil vial as he was to observe that Paris was aroused again. "Will you join me on the bed?" he asked slyly.

Paris responded with a coy smile as he sat down and swung his legs onto the bed. He even felt bold enough to stretch himself out suggestively and gaze at the warrior with his best come-hither eyes. Achilles took one look at the decadent sight and tore his garments off as quickly as he could before launching his body next to him. Paris was suddenly struck by the memory of jumping on that mattress when he was a young boy and smirked, unable to contain his laughter as another image came to mind, this one of his naked lover bouncing up and down with the same enthusiasm and glee of a child.

"You laugh!" cried Achilles in a teasingly indignant tone. "You won't do so when you feel me at the back of your throat."

He was only partially wrong – Paris' laughter turned to moans sooner than that when Achilles grabbed the Trojan's legs and wrapped them around his waist.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Philo was fully clothed and glaring at Titus as he got dressed at an excruciatingly slow pace. "Why must everything about you be so slow?" he groused. "Your intellect, your reflexes; by the gods, you even took your own sweet time with that!" he added, gesturing to the young man that was lying naked and face-down on the bed.

"I just gave an unforgettable performance," Titus bragged defensively. He patted the prostitute's bare behind, pressing down hard on the sore region just to hear him whimper in pain. "Can you blame me for wanting to savor the moment?"

"I doubt you're _that_ good," retorted Philo with a snort. "But we can always get an assessment from our willing little toy here after we get done with this. Now come on! We need to get to the Greeks' quarters – with how drunk that barbarian was Achilles might still be dragging him there."

They left the room without giving a word to the prostitute on the bed, something that was more than acceptable with Hook. He hurt a lot; two cruel people to please was definitely more horrible than dealing with just one. _'This isn't as bad as it was after being with Lord Isidore after the king told him he could force himself on the prince,'_ he told himself firmly, trying to ease his own suffering while reminding himself why he had subjected himself to such a thing.

'_Please let this be worth it,'_ he begged silently to whatever deity was listening. He'd done his part; all he could do now was hope and pray that Lord Achilles and Prince Paris made sure that his efforts weren't in vain.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Achilles didn't want to move; all his body wanted to do was wrap around the warm form of Paris and fall into a contented sleep. Unfortunately, being in Troy robbed them of the luxury of holding each other afterwards. Such a thing could only happen between them in his homeland and he knew it was time to set them on their course. After rising from the bed and getting dressed he asked, "Where do you keep your clothing?"

"In that closet," replied Paris, pointing to a particular set of doors that stood opposite the bed and almost blended into the wall.

With no further ado, Achilles marched to them, threw them open, and started pulling out garments. "What are you doing?" asked Paris, sitting up hastily and staring at him with alarm.

"We're leaving Troy tonight," the Greek declared gently but firmly, pleading with his eyes for Paris to agree. "Get dressed."

Paris complied but his internal debate could not be silenced so quickly. "I can't leave yet," he protested weakly, not sounding wholly convinced. How could he ever make such a difficult decision? "I haven't even had the chance to say goodbye to Hector."

Achilles bit his lower lip to keep from snapping that Hector was most likely as big a threat to Paris well being as Priam and Isidore, being that he was the king's heir and presumably deep in his council. "I can't protect you here much longer," he argued instead. "You'll be safe in my homeland. Your brother can even visit – if he behaves himself," he added, so as not to lie to his beloved. "But we must leave now."

Any response that Paris was going to give was cut off as the door crashed open.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

They were going to be in huge trouble. Titus and Philo guessed this when they arrived at a very quiet Greeks' quarters and knew it for a fact after they searched every room. Achilles wasn't there; neither was the drunk. One of the private chambers reserved for leaders as well as a large communal sleeping area had been cleared of all personal possessions. They were forced to conclude that one of the Greek subgroups – Ithacians and Myrmidons – was planning on leaving in secret and the guards had a sinking feeling that it was the latter one. That little drunken scene had been nothing more than an act! They'd been duped! There was nothing to do but race to Paris' bedchamber and hope that they weren't too late.

The prince's guard was standing outside the doorway, oblivious to all the drama that was taking place. Hearing footsteps coming down the dark corridor he squinted, trying to make out the figures running in his direction. "Who –"

Not in the proper mindset to make up a believable lie, Philo drew his sword and hit him in the head with the hilt before the oblivious fool could identify them. "We can say that he was helping that brute, trying to stop us from stopping him," he explained hurriedly to Titus, who was staring dumbly at him. "Or we can say that Myrmidons did it. It doesn't matter now – help me get that door open!"

Together they grabbed the knob and threw all of their weight into pushing the door open, an exercise that proved to be unnecessary since it was unlocked. It banged open dramatically from all the force, the frame cracking astheylaid eyes onParis and Achilles standing in the center of the room staring at them in shock.

"Prince Paris!" shouted Philo, feigning concern while actually relieved that they were both still fully clothed. "We heard a strange voice…."

Then it hit them: the smell of sex, something that they were quite familiar with that evening, hung heavily in the air. Philo was disgusted; Paris had gone ahead and ruined everything for them just to have sex with an animalistic barbarian. Well then, if that was the way the little whore liked it he would gladly accommodate him. "Well my prince," he leered scornfully, undressing Paris with his eyes. "Are you getting started a couple of years early?"

Achilles could stand no more. He'd endured witnessing Priam and Isidore's treatment of Paris, Odysseus' recount of what he'd heard about the Trojan king's plans for his youngest son, and the hints from the prostitutes that the prince was in danger. Being confronted with these guards standing there in the one place that they could be alone in the city wrenched his stomach. Hearing one of them practically compare their love-making to what Isidore did with those poor young men who ended up in the palace harem sent him over the edge. In a blind rage he pulled out the long knife he always hid in his boot and rammed it through Philo's vile throat. Titus gave a wordless cry and grabbed at his sword but Achilles withdrew the knife and repeated the stabbing with the other guard before he had the chance to draw it.

Shaking a bit as the haze in his mind cleared, Achilles grabbed Paris' arm. "Come," he urged. The prince stared at the dead bodies on the floor but did not resist as he was dragged out of the room.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Thanks to the evening festivities that would continue on long after they departed and the general lateness of the hour, the pair was able to make it out of the palace and through the streets with relative ease. Actually getting through the gates was a little more complicated, but few guards were on duty. Those who were guarding the walls had a lot of ground to cover while being drowsy; they weren't looking for people trying to sneak out of the city, giving Achilles and Paris the chance to do just that without getting caught.

They were almost to the official borders of the beach when Paris stumbled, falling to his knees. "Are you all right?" asked Achilles urgently. "I can carry you if you need me to."

"They knew," said Paris numbly. The worried Greek kneeled down in front of him. "I thought that only my father and Isidore knew, but those guards did too. Oh gods, they got into my bedchamber! What if you hadn't been there, Achilles?"

"I _was_ there," replied Achilles, drawing him into a fierce embrace. "I will always be there. No one will ever hurt you as long as I'm there to prevent it."

"I can't stay here," Paris sobbed. "They got into my _bedchamber_ –everyone might know and they could get in there without my consent as well. It's not safe to wait for Hector, Achilles; I can't stay in Troy another night."

"You won't have to," Achilles declared, bringing them both to their feet. "Can you go on?" Paris nodded mutely.

"There's a ship waiting to take us far away from here," the warrior reminded him. "All we have to do is get there."

Hand-in-hand Achilles and Paris ran the rest of the way down the beach and to the water, to the ship that promised to bear them to a new beginning.

To be concluded…

_A/N: To be concluded probably, I should say. There will most likely be one more chapter, but if I need to cover too much stuff there will be two. I hope you don't mind that this chapter's longer than the others; there was no good stopping point and I wanted to get through all of this in one chapter anyway._


	19. The end of the beginning

Pain was the first thing that registered in the mind of Paris' guard as he regained consciousness. What had caused his head to hurt so badly? He struggled to move his hand ever so gingerly to hold it and realized that the entire front of his body was pressed against something cool. Risking the further agony of having to actually use his vision, the guard opened his eyes. He was lying face-down on the marble tile of the palace floor. _'How did I come to be here?'_ he wondered dimly, forcing his eyes to focus on a bit of sunlight that was shining on the space beside him from some unseen source. He often had duties to attend to in the palace and sometimes those took place at night, but it was never proper for someone of his rank and position in the company of the guards to fall asleep in the palace.

No, it didn't seem quite right that explain the situation by saying that he fell asleep. Something else had happened. The guard sifted through his hazy memory, desperately trying to make sense of everything. He'd been standing in the dark – he'd been on duty the night before – when figures came running towards him. He hadn't been able to recognize them (nor could he remember exactly how many there were) so he had tried to speak. Tried to? Oh, yes; that was the reason why his head was killing him – before he could get out an entire sentence, one of them had struck him in the head. They obviously wanted to keep him from attending to his assigned job. What exactly had that been last night?

His pain became of little consequence to him rather quickly as the details of the duty he was supposed to be performing slammed into his mind, bringing him to cold reality: he'd been guarding Prince Paris' bedchamber! Had anything happened to the prince? The guard forced his aching body to move, pushing his hands against the floor and kicking out with his feet to try to get enough momentum to rise to his feet. As he squirmed around, he managed to shift enough to see the source of the sunlight: a window in the bedchamber, made visible because the door was standing wide open and the frame was splintered. Blind panic gave him the strength to stagger to his feet and stumble inside as he prayed to any deity for any one of many scenarios that varied between highly unlikely to impossible under the circumstances.

'_Oh, Apollo!'_ The guard almost keeled over once more at the sights that he beheld in that room. Two Trojan guards – his brethren-in-arms – laid dead on the floor, their blood staining the tile red. Many parts of the room were in disarray. The closet doors had been flung open and several expensive garments had been torn from their hangings, now either dangling precariously or else strewn about on the surrounding floor. The bedding was turned down and its condition making it evident that some kind of great struggle had taken place on it. The top drawer of the bedside bureau was wide open. Most alarming of all was the fact that Prince Paris was nowhere in sight and there were no obvious clues that would indicate his whereabouts.

The guard's breathing grew ragged as he tore out of the room. "Help!" he shouted. "Apollo, save him!"

His call did not go unheeded. Three more guards quickly came from three different directions, drawn by the horror in his voice and his ominous words. "What is it?" demanded one of them. He frowned at the sight of blood seeping from the panicked guard's head. "In the name of the gods, who did this to you?"

"What happened to me does not matter now!" Paris' guard cried harshly as his hysteria grew. "The prince is _gone_. There are guards dead, doors broken – the figures in the night! They must have carried off Prince Paris!"

"By the gods!" gasped the second newcomer.

"Are you absolutely certain?" asked the first with hopeful desperation. "Could he not have just awoken earlier than usual and slipped out without you knowing?"

The guard stared incredulously at him. "And leaving parts of his bedchamber in disorder, killing two guards, breaking the door frame, and not caring that I was lying on my face in the corridor?" he snapped. "Does that sound like our prince to you? Our sweet, beautiful prince – oh gods, not Prince Paris! Spare him, please!"

"The king must be made aware of this," declared the third newcomer grimly, turning immediately on his heels and sprinting off.

The other two rushed past the guard to see for themselves the remnants of whatever took place the previous night, hoping that he'd just misinterpreted everything. They stopped short as they realized how accurate his depiction had been. "I think I'm going to be ill," the first choked out at the sight of the dead bodies. He had been in battles before; the dead bodies of comrades were, unfortunately, not an unfamiliar sight to him. However, there was a difference between dying on a battlefield and being brutally slain in what was supposed to be one of the safest parts of the city. "Whoever is responsible for this has surely earned the most terrible punishment inflicted in Tartarus."

"Who are they?" wondered the second. "They look familiar but I don't know their names. They weren't assigned to guard any member of the royal family – I know everyone who has that duty."

"I've only seen them a few times in passing," noted Paris' guard. "Perhaps they were pursuing the prince's attackers through the corridors and so came here."

The first stepped forward and rolled one of the bodies to get an unobstructed view of his face. "This is Titus!" he announced in shock. He let go quickly and rolled the other corpse, already guessing who it was. "And Philo is beside him. They are the personal guards of Lord Isidore." He paused, frowning. "In fact, they should be guarding him now. What were they doing in the palace so late at night?"

"The lord must have decided to stay in order to enjoy the festivities," concluded the second. "He needs to know about this as well."

Frustration mingled with the maddening desperation within Paris' guard. "Not right now!" he said impatiently. "This is horrible, but there is nothing we can do to help these poor guards. We need to be concentrating on what happened to the prince – and who did it to him."

"You're right, you're right," agreed the first though thinking of what terrible things could have befallen their kind prince made him sick. His eyes darted around the room as he surveyed all of the evidence, falling lastly on the bed. "Do you think someone ra-rape –" Oh, he couldn't bear to complete that sentence!

The second turned green and covered his mouth as Paris' guard let out a choking sob. "Maybe not," the second asserted, not believing his own sentiments. "His clothing – those are some of the finest in the lands. Perhaps someone was trying to rob him. The prince could have woken up while these people were here, causing the thieves to overcome him while he was still in bed. The drawer may be open because the prince was trying to retrieve some sort of weapon."

"More likely they attacked him while he was sleeping," sobbed Paris' guard in misery and guilt. How could he have let something like this happen? "Everything else was probably caused by his attempts to escape or defend himself against the intruders. No one other than a vicious monster could have sought to hurt Prince Paris in any fashion. He must have been so frightened to endure such trials!"

All three started at the sound of crying coming from behind the dressing curtain. "Prince Paris?!" cried the guard, feeling as if his heart was about to burst from the intensity of all the different emotions he was experiencing at the moment. He lunged forward and tore aside the curtain to reveal…

…A young servant boy seated on the floor, curled up into a ball and clutching a wooden goat in his hand. "Julian?" asked Paris' guard, recognizing the ten-year-old who always assisted the prince at night. "What are you doing here?"

"Lord Achilles took the prince," he replied hysterically through the tears and sobs.

The guard's blood seeped cold. Troy's beautiful, gentle, young prince who was still untrained militarily was now at the mercy of that brutish bastard? No, it couldn't be true. "How do you know that?" he demanded fiercely, stooping down and seizing the boy's shoulders, shaking him hard. "What did you see? Why didn't you go for help?! Speak up!"

"Stop!" protested the second, prying his comrade away from the clearly traumatized child.

For his part Julian didn't even seem to notice the violent actions or the intervention on his behalf. He rocked his body back and forth, his round eyes looking at nothing and yet watching the incomprehensible things he'd witnessed. "Lord Achilles took the prince," he repeated. "Lord Achilles took the prince, Lord Achilles took the prince…"

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

It took awhile to locate Lord Isidore. He was obviously somewhere in the palace, but not in one of the bedchambers designated for important Trojan nobility that stayed the night for different reasons. The best places to search after those were the discreet rooms spread across most of the palace that were reserved for encounters with the prostitutes. Reasoning that he would be in one near the royal quarters, a guard started knocking on doors as he pondered how the two dead guards ended up involved in whatever happened in Prince Paris' bedchambers in the first place. _'Titus and Philo must have heard him struggle with Lord Achilles,'_ he decided sadly as he rapped on yet another door and braced himself for another less-than-pleasant response. _'It was so brave of them to take that Greek on themselves with his reputation and all.'_

Inside, Isidore was thrilled to finally hear someone disturb him even though he was in the middle of something. While he had no idea what time it was – the particular room, chosen only because of its proximity to the royal quarters, had no windows – he was certain that Achilles would have made his move by now. "One moment!" he shouted in the direction of the door as he thrust a few more times and groaned his release.

The prostitute remained still on the bed after the lord got off of him and put on a robe. "What are you waiting for?" snapped Isidore in disgust, throwing the young man's garment at him. "Get out of my sight. No – don't take the time to put that revolting rag back on. It isn't as if that body isn't available to anyone who wants it for a lot more than just a good peep show."

The young man dragged himself off of the bed and began to limp towards the door. "So now you're good enough to use the main door?" sneered the lord. "No one appreciates an uppity whore. Use the servants' entrance like the lowly piece of filth that you are."

Isidore answered the knock as the prostitute started down the corridor to the other door. He was surprised at what he saw; not at the unfamiliar guard – he hadn't expected Titus and Philo to be in a position to inform him after killing Achilles – but rather at the sunlight seeping through archers' slits in the palace wall. Morning had come without a word from anyone. That didn't bode well for his plan. "Why are you here?" he asked uneasily.

The guard bowed his head. "Your worthy guards, Titus and Philo, are dead, my lord," he announced solemnly. "They were slain while trying to defend Prince Paris from Lord Achilles' attack."

"Where is the prince now?" demanded Isidore in alarm. There was still a chance – if they knew the identity of the so-called assailant, then surely other guards must have interfered as well. The object of his twisted lust might very well still be untouched. _'Please tell me that he is still pure!'_

"He is gone," the guard informed him, devastated. He watched the lord's face blanch. "That – _beast_ – abducted him. The king requests that you oversee the investigation in his bedchamber while he accompanies a contingent of guards to the Greeks' quarters."

"Yes, of course." As he followed the guard to Paris' bedchamber, Isidore maintained a show of grief and concern on the outside while fuming on the inside. Those morons had undoubtedly cost him the boy's virginity! He would not be sorry for the deaths of two such incredibly stupid people. It was just lucky for them that Achilles dispatched them before he could get his hands on them; once someone proved to be utterly useless to Isidore, he made it a point to inflict an excruciating punishment for disappointing him.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"Sire!" called a panicked Greek as he pounded on Odysseus' door. _"Sire!"_

"Yes, I heard you," answered Ithaca's king as he stumbled to the door, still a bit blurry-eyed from being awoken in such an abrupt manner. Opening the door, he asked, "What is –" before the words caught in his throat. King Priam and a band of Trojan guards came to view over his soldier's shoulder.

"Good morning King Priam and most worthy guards," he said politely as he straightened his back. "How may I be of service to you?"

"How indeed?" spat the king, his tone dark and feature distorted by rage. "So you dare to stand before me as if nothing has happened and carry on pleasantries! Give me one good reason not to behead you and the rest of the Greeks that remain in my realm."

"_Rest_ of the Greeks that _remain_ in Troy?" repeated Odysseus as a sinking feeling came to the pit of his stomach. "I know of none that have yet departed."

"Surely you are aware of the fact that Lord Achilles and his Myrmidons fled sometime last night," snarled Priam threateningly. "That lot aren't clever enough to think up a plan that would get them past my gates while they stole my son!"

"Not Prince Paris!" gasped Odysseus, forcing himself not to vomit. Achilles couldn't really have left him and his men in this mess, could he?

"My Paris is gone!" bellowed the king. "That barbarous animal has tainted his worth and robbed me of my right to command my child."

It couldn't be. Patroclus had promised that Achilles wouldn't do anything that would start a war – _at the moment_. Odysseus fought the urge to smack himself in the head as he berated himself for being so blind. _'Aren't clever enough, King Priam?'_ he thought sarcastically. Apparently he'd never dealt with Achilles' cousin. This wouldn't be the first time that the young Myrmidon had played with his words while acting as a mediator for Achilles.

"King Priam," he said aloud as respectfully as he could manage while letting his horror be heard as well. "I can assure you that neither myself or my men knew nothing of this heinous deed. We would not dare to mock your might by remaining here if we had. Any one of us would have informed your majesty in an instant if we knew, as Ithaca respects and fears the power of Troy. Please, I beg of you to allow me to plead our case before the throne and offer whatever help I can in rectifying the situation."

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

"I saw you," Green accused as he tended to Hook's injuries in the prostitutes' chamber. "You threw yourself at those two! Don't tell me that you forgot what they did to Yellow last week when they got their hands on him. You were the one who took care of him."

Hook groaned, glad that he was lying on his stomach so that his friend couldn't see the gleeful and hopeful gleam in his eyes. Explaining that would be tough and he didn't want to tell anyone anything about what he suspected until it proved to be true. "I had my reasons," he grunted.

"Insanity?" guessed Green flatly. "And you even kissed their feet! That probably just got them even more excited." His face softened. "You can't do things like that, Hook. You take care of us; we need you whole."

"I'm still in one piece," Hook assured him lightly even as he winced in pain as Green ran a hot wet cloth over his wounds. He turned his eyes towards the door as someone entered and hastily closed it behind him. "And where have you been, Freckles?"

"What happened to you?" asked Freckles.

"Just answer his question," Green said in a long-suffering tone.

Freckles groaned as he shed his bloodstained garment and grabbed a cloth. "With Lord Isidore," he informed them. "He – well, he demanded a lot of satisfaction before he would let me leave."

"Figures," Hook grumbled into his pillow.

"You'll never believe what's going on," continued Freckles, not hearing him. "Lord Achilles has kidnapped Prince Paris! It's true; a guard came to the door to tell Lord Isidore all about it. Apparently the lord's two guards were killed when they tried to stop him."

"How awful for the prince," commented Green as he soaked and wrung out his cloth. Bringing it back to Hook's body, he was startled to find that the other prostitute was trembling with tears streaming down his face. Maybe Hook had lost his mind if he was getting so worked up over this. Green himself wasn't sure if everyone should be as worried as they probably were if Lord Achilles was anything like he appeared to be the day before. "Hook? What's wrong?"

It took awhile before Hook could explain to them that the tears were brought on by joyful relief and the tremors the result of him trying to keep from laughing.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Odysseus stood with his head buried in his hands while he waited in a small room outside the great meeting hall where King Priam and Troy's nobility was preparing to call him. Curse Achilles for placing him and his men in this position! Had the man no sense of responsibility towards his friends? Love seemed to make him even more impulsive and thoughtless. _Love_; that was well and good for the Myrmidons, but the Ithacians were in a mess. Now instead of obtaining the peace that he'd been working so hard for, Odysseus had to decide if he'd rather have the Trojans or the Myrmidons burn Ithaca to the ground and slaughter his people. He groaned aloud at the thought, drawing even more furious glares from the two guards posted at the double doors.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice someone else enter the room. The guards were stunned at the arrival of Andromache, Hector's wife, but she held her hand up in a silent order to remain where they were before either spoke a word. "King Odysseus," she greeted formally.

"My lady Andromache," he replied hoarsely, looking up. "Greetings to you this morning. I'm sorry that this encounter couldn't have taken place under more pleasant circumstances."

She cast an appraising look over him for a long moment, recalling his past kindness to her and Astyanax as well as the love in his voice as he spoke about his own wife and son. "You didn't play a part in what happened to Paris, did you?" she asked cautiously, almost confident that she hadn't judged him wrong but still not willing to leave it totally up to chance after what had just happened.

"No," he replied truthfully, looking her in the eyes. "Which I'm about to explain to the king. I wish you're husband was here, my lady, for I hear he is an honest and just man. He will be the only one who can set everything right again, him being the commander of the army and all," he added hastily.

"A messenger came during all the commotion," Andromache told him, her wise eyes still assessing. "Hector will be returning to Troy in two days, barring any unforeseen events."

Two days. Why couldn't Achilles have waited for another two days? Then again, knowing what he believed about Prince Hector's involvement in everything, the warrior would have just seen it as more reason for carrying out his plan that night. Odysseus smiled his thanks at her as he planned his next move. He had the words to keep him and his men out of the Trojan dungeons – or worse – until he returned. Then he could tell Troy's crown prince everything. After all, secrets and lies were what caused this situation in the first place; perhaps the truth could free them of it.

Not the entire truth, of course – some details would have to be slightly altered. Prince Hector didn't need to know _exactly_ how much Odysseus knew of Achilles' plans, namely that he knew that he was set on spiriting Prince Paris away at some point. He also decided that it would probably be best to exaggerate the length of Achilles' courtship with his younger brother. All that truth would be hard to manage.

_OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

Troy was long out of sight by the time the sun rose over the Myrmidon ship. That was fortunate for everyone on board, including Paris: had someone from the city actually _seen_ their ship sailing away, the Trojan army would have attacked with or without the leadership of their official commander, Hector.

Why then did Paris feel so mixed up inside? He'd spend the remainder of the night after the escape on deck in Achilles' arms, just enjoying the feeling of holding him and being held while looking out over the water in the direction of the city. The Myrmidons had left them alone for a long time, but once the sun had risen they needed to consult with their leader. Though Achilles sensed his confusion and was loath to leave him for even a moment Paris assured him that he would be fine. Now the warrior was speaking with Eudores while Paris sat on the deck beside Patroclus, who'd offered to keep him company.

"Are you all right?" Patroclus was now asking.

Paris nodded mutely, afraid that if he spoke the tears that were blurring his vision would spill over.

Patroclus wasn't fooled for a minute. "Then why do you look like you want to cry?" he pressed on. "You don't regret your decision to leave with us, do you?"

"No," said Paris, wiping his eyes in frustration. "I love Achilles and want to be with him. My life in Troy – I hated it and it wasn't safe, but…."

"It was the only home you've ever known."

"Yes."

There was more to it than that. "And what else?"

"My brother." Paris closed his eyes as the tears fell steadily. "I love him too and now I'll probably never see him again."

"Oh." Patroclus thought of the right thing to say. He knew of Achilles' suspicions and didn't disagree, but telling Paris about them – especially now – would be cruel. "If anyone has the means to come and see you once we get home, it's your brother," he said kindly, though his blood chilled a bit as he realized how true that statement was.

"But what if he tries to make me go back?" asked Paris, almost to himself. "I don't want to go back."

"The Myrmidons won't let that happen," promised Patroclus firmly.

That just brought up another heartbreaking concern in Paris' mind. "What if the Myrmidons won't let him even get off the ship if he does come?"

Patroclus put a comforting hand on his shoulder, wanting to end the poor boy's suffering. "_I_ won't let that happen," he told him in a low voice. "If I'm there when he shows up, I'll make sure that he can get back to the hut." It wasn't as if he were promising that Hector would be left _alone_ with him or that Achilles would even let him in the door. Paris needed assurances, not reality.

"Thank you," Paris whispered. He smiled ruefully. "I never had a friend before."

"You do now, and more still when you get to know the others better."

"That sounds nice." He let out a loud sigh. "Apollo, I'm exhausted."

"I don't doubt it," observed Patroclus before shouting over his shoulder: "Achilles! Eudores! Are you two done yet?"

The pair glared in his direction as they made their way over. "Have you no manners at all?" griped Eudores.

"Yes, and that's why I didn't throw anything at your hollow head," replied Patroclus jovially. "Cousin, you need to get some sleep; you haven't had any in over two days. Take Paris with you – this has been a long night for everyone, especially you two."

Eudores har-umphed. "I suppose you're right," he said begrudgingly, not wanting to admit that sort of thing to Patroclus. "We can handle matters for a few hours. Have a good rest, Achilles, sire," he added, nodding to Paris.

"Not 'sire'" Paris told him as Achilles helped him to his feet. "I'm not a prince anymore; I'm simply Paris."

"You do realize," said Achilles, slipping an arm around him as they headed below deck to the commander's cabin, " that it's not possible. There is nothing simple about Paris – neither being him or loving him."

Paris laughed and buried his face in Achilles' neck. "I'm sure I'll have something witty to say about that after I've slept for awhile."

"I'm sorry; I should have known that we'd both be dead on our feet after all that's happened," Achilles murmured. "In fact, I almost fell asleep last night after we made love. All I wanted to do was take you in my arms and feel you against me as I drifted off."

"We can do that now," Paris suggested, giving his lips a gentle kiss. "I've been wondering what it would be like to wake up in your arms like that. Let's pretend that we've just been together and fall asleep like you described."

Achilles nuzzled his neck. "Just pretend?"

"For right now," smiled Paris. "Although the next time we go to bed, I don't think I'll be satisfied with just pretending. No more pretending for us, Achilles; we can finally be together without fear."

They were free, Achilles realized as he opened the door to the commander's cabin and followed Paris inside. They could now spend all the time together that they wanted, talk to each other in a public place without fear of getting caught, and fall asleep and wake up in each other's arms. This freedom hadn't come easy and demanded a few sacrifices – the warrior sent a silent apology to Odysseus for all the trouble he was undoubtedly in, even though the old fox was capable of talking himself out of it – but he would do it again in a heartbeat.

Trials most likely still lay ahead, but Paris was finally with him and out of Troy. It was all that Achilles wanted and he was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that things stayed that way.

The End

To be continued in _Family Secrets_

_A/N: Okay, apparently I lied when I said that I'd cut this chapter in half if it got too long. Same old problem; no good stopping point and a lot to cover._

_I'm revising Family Secrets, with the first posting coming no later than a week from this one. When I originally wrote that story, this prequel wasn't even a thought and I was still a fan fiction writing novice. My goal back then was to create a story where something major happened every single chapter and, while I still really like the story, that resulted in it being somewhat rushed and not as detailed as it could be. The revision will (hopefully!) be much more fleshed out and have more than just Hector's p.o.v. (even though he'll still be the main character), including a chapter at least dealing with Achilles and Paris' life after they get to Achilles' homeland._

_The original version of Family Secrets will remain posted, since I hate when other authors take down the first versions of their stories after I've read the revision and found that I like the original better. Consider the revision to be an elaboration on events, as well as a way for me to fix a couple of continuity problems._

_Last of all, thank you all so much for reading and especially for reviewing! It really makes my day to see that people are interested in my stories._


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